


What Is It About You That I Can't Erase?

by TheGirlWithTheKite



Series: I'm On Fire For You [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of mpreg but no actual mpreg, No dubcon in this but mentions of dubcon, Sex Toys, Slow Burn, When I say Slow burn I literally mean the canon length of slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithTheKite/pseuds/TheGirlWithTheKite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Step One: Play Hockey at Samwell.<br/>Step Two: Only let people know that he's an Omega on his terms.<br/>Step Three: ????<br/>Step Four: Profit.</p><p>In which Eric Bittle is a male Omega on a mostly Alpha hockey team.<br/>ABO rewrite of Year One!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'm Praying You Catch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so shoutout to nerd-struck and infntlyaround on tumblr for putting up with me complaining about this fic since I realized that there weren't any long sexy A/B/O fics in the Check, Please! fandom, also shoutout to them for letting me convince them to read CP in the first place. I will add more tags as they apply to the fic.  
> If you're not familiar with A/B/O, this is a great wiki on it http://fanlore.org/wiki/Alpha/Beta/Omega
> 
> Title from Beyonce's Sandcastles

Eric closed his laptop screen, and took in a deep breath. He may have not totally faked his enthusiasm for the camera—because trust him, he definitely was excited to meet his teammates—but he was a little apprehensive. He had no illusions about what the orientations of the team would be: mostly Alphas, with a couple of Betas thrown in. Eric would be the only Omega.

It wasn’t that he wanted to keep it a secret from his teammates—in fact the main reason he had chosen Samwell was that it was one of the few openly Omega friendly schools, they had begun to publicly accepting Omegas back in the ‘50s, and the statistics showed that 1 in 4 students were Omegas.

Eric knew, logically, that he didn’t have to hide his orientation; he just had to take the NCAA required suppressants, same as all of the Alphas on the team—except of course that they were taking rut suppressants and he was taking heat suppressants along with birth control. He didn’t have to hide his orientation but he couldn’t help but seize with the fear that had haunted him throughout high school, the fear that filled him every time he saw the all-Alpha football team—even if his father had been the coach. His club hockey team had been filled with all Betas, plus him.

In fact, it had almost always been all one orientation plus him growing up—minus figure skating, where Omegas were the norm. But, Eric couldn’t deny the fact that the odds were always going to be stacked against him, with him being the only male Omega in the room. With a population split where 65% of the world population was Betas, 20% Alpha, and 15% Omega, and then an even bigger split of 85% of all Alphas being male, and 95% of all Omegas female.

And then when you added in the factor that Eric grew up in what was basically Small Town, Georgia he was one of 4 Omegas in his entire school, and the only male one at that. Figure skating had been different—almost all of the other skaters had been Omega girls and Omega boys, a few betas among them. But Figure skating would always be different than Hockey.

“Get a hold of yourself, Bittle,” Eric whispered before standing up and walking over to his closet to grab his shower caddy.

He wasn’t even meeting the team until tomorrow morning at, god, 7 am, but he wanted to make sure that he was safe.

Eric knew that if any one from the team came into his dorm room, they would know immediately, there would be no reason for a Beta to have Beta scented body wash and deodorant, to have heat suppressants and birth control, and definitely not Beta scented underwear pads (okay, he had to admit those were overkill, but Suzanne Bittle was nothing but thorough when she was determined). He hoped that his suitemates wouldn’t say anything about them, but then again when Eric had Facebook stalked them he found out that they were all Betas themselves, so he didn’t think they would pick up on it.

But it was a thrill to have this freedom he had never had before—being heatless, pheromones masked, and protected from any unplanned pregnancies. Back home it was rare to come across any Omega Specializing OBGYN that would prescribe heat suppressants, and Eric’s parents had always given a hard no when he would so much as hint at them.

“Junior, you just don’t know what’s truly in those pills. Besides, God made you an Omega for a reason,” Coach had always told him.

Eric knew that even 18 years after having to deal with his son being an Omega, Coach still hadn’t come fully to terms with it. That he had secretly had wanted the doctors to be wrong that Eric would never present as an Omega, that he was really a Beta, or better yet—that he presented as an Alpha. But that hadn’t been the case.

Eric stripped and stepped into the shower, adjusting the temperature to where it wasn’t freezing cold or blistering hot. He remembered waking up when he was 13 with a fever, and a tightening feeling in his stomach.

His mother had taken one look at—or rather a whiff of—him, before shouting for his father. Eric didn’t really remember the rest of what happened after that, just a lot of quick moving: into the car, and then into the clinic two towns over, before coming home three days later and having his bedroom looking completely different.

Eric grabbed the loofah puff from out of his shower caddy and loaded it up with his Beta scented body wash, and remembered his shock at his room coming home from the Omega clinic after his presenting heat.

Coach had put new glass in his window, with bars crossing over them, put a new door on his room with a deadbolt, and had repainted his room with a paint that his mother had told him was “Omega Pheromone Blocking Paint,” and that had been that. Every heat after that had been spent in the privacy of his own bedroom, with all of its new safety features. His mother had left him a package after his second heat spent alone his room, and boy, did Eric use it.

Eric gently washed his hair out, he had been jealous when he was younger of the other Omega boys in figure skating who had long hair, but Coach had always told him, “No, you may be an Omega, but you’re not going to have long hair.”

But Coach wasn’t here now. And if Eric wanted to grow his hair out longer than the shaggy length that Coach would allow, he would. Not that Eric was going to, because frankly he knew he would not look the same as the Alphas who would have “flow” on his team. Eric would just look more and more dainty, like a pretty little Omega made only for being bred.

He turned off the shower, and stepped out slowly, skin steamy from the shower. Eric quickly changed into his pajamas—soft flannel bottoms and one of Coach’s old football shirts. Eric’s father may not have been happy about sending his only son, who was also an Omega, over 8 hours away in a completely different state (even if it was on a sports scholarship), Coach had slipped some of his things into Eric’s packing. The familiar smell of Alpha—sharp cloves, warm sun, and the sweet smell of sweat—surrounded him, mixing in with the false Beta scent.

He felt a little like he was home. Besides, Samwell was his new home.

 

Scratch that, Samwell was _not_ his new home. If the way his team had treated his pie was any way to tell by that. Walking into the Samwell Men’s Hocky Team locker room reminded Eric of walking into the gym locker room back home in Madison, but different somehow.

The scent of Alpha hung over the entire room, but it didn’t engulf Eric’s senses the way it did in Madison. Instead it was muted, an underlying current to the room. It was also different, because no one turned and leered at him the way the did back in the Morgan County High School locker room, in fact no one noticed him. They noticed his pie, though. And it was ripped from his hands before he could even speak.

“Bro, is this a fucking chocolate pecan pie?” One of them had asked, he was very tall, almost an entire foot on Eric, had light blonde hair, and was definitely an Alpha.

“Um, yeah. I made it to introduce myself to you—”

“Bro, bro, bro, you made this? This is the best shit ever,” the guy next to the blond giant had said, and this Alpha was almost as tall as the blond, but he had brown skin and a slightly bro-ed out Canadian accent.

“Yeah, I made it—”

“Fucking no manners on you asshats,” had come a voice from behind them. Eric had turned and saw everything he expected from a hockey play: flow, mustache, and foul language. Except, this guy didn’t hit Eric the same way as the other two. He was a Beta.

The Beta stuck out his hand, “Shitty. These two fuckers are Ransom and Holster, respectively.” Shitty waved his hand at the two Alphas, but Eric didn’t catch which one was which. “And your name is...?”

Eric swallowed and smoothed a hand down his front, “Bittle. Eric Bittle.”

A moan had come from behind from him, from Holster—no, Ransom, “Bro, this is the shit.”

Eric had stared in horror as the Alpha had stuck his entire hand into the pie.

“Bittle, huh, we should call you Bitty. Get it, because of your name—”

“—and because you’re short!”

The two Alphas had finished each other’s sentences, and smiled at each other. If they had been anything other than both Alphas, Eric would have suspected that they were bonded.

Shitty had clapped Eric on the shoulder, “Let’s fucking get our skate on, bro.”

The morning skate had gone just as well as Eric could have hoped for based on his first introduction, which was not completely terrible, but still bad. Coach Murray had them do laps around the rink, some stick handling practice, ran a few lines, and then suicides up and done the ice. Afterwards, the team had gone around introducing themselves to the freshmen—or “taddies” as some of the players had kept referring to them as, Eric hadn’t really understood that. The upperclassmen called the sophomores “frogs,” and then the freshmen the true frogs, but were really taddies. It had made Eric’s head spin when he though about too hard.

He had already forgotten the majority of his teammates’ names after they said them, only a few stood out. The two Alphas who defiled his pie—Ransom and Holster, they were Dmen, the Beta that had intervened—Shitty, he was a winger, a Beta named Johnson who was the starting goalie, Ollie and Wicks who were both freshmen like Bitty and a Beta and Alpha respectively, and then the Captain—Jack Zimmermann. He as a center, and more importantly an Alpha, and the Omega part of Bitty’s brain preened over that fact.

There was just something about that Alpha’s cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, and accented voice that just made every part of Eric sweat and twitch a little, and it made Eric so happy that he was on the regulated heat suppressants, and that he followed his mother’s advice with the Beta pheromones. Because he didn’t think that without them that he would have kept his orientation secret for much longer than the first time Jack shouted a command on the ice.

There hadn’t been time after introductions to shower, Coach Murray and Coach Hall had forgotten that a local team had rented out the ice at 9:30, and were already piling into the rink.

Eric stood in the center of his dorm, glad to be free from the Alpha scent that was sunk into every pore of Faber Memorial Rink. Even though the smell was muted from all the Alphas that were around him, he couldn’t help but be a little shaken up—in a completely different way than what he was used to. There was a friendly undercurrent to it, not one wrought with tension of violence and lust, and Eric realized that’s probably exactly why the NCAA regulated suppressants for Alphas and Omegas. It wouldn’t do to have Alphas ripping each other’s throats out on the ice, especially since Hockey was a high tension and violent sport, it also wouldn’t help if a team with mostly Alphas would pop a knot over the smell of any Omega.

Eric just wished that his heat suppressants worked more like the Alpha’s rut suppressants—which prevented not only the Alpha from going into heat, but also stopped them from popping knots, because while his pills mostly covered his scent (of course with the added help), it did nothing to stop the slick that was coming out of his hole. Eric groaned, what else was he expecting? He just spent over an hour in close quarters with Alphas—attractive Alphas—who had treated him like a person instead a piece of fuckable meat, of course his body would turn against him this way.

Eric double-checked that his dorm room was locked, before stripping down to just his boxers and digging around in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Ah, there it was.

It had been the unspoken present from his mother—a vibrating dildo with a replica of a knot at the base that could be inflated with a press of a button. This was one of the many times that Eric was glad that his mother was also an Omega, because she just got it, what it was like to be an Omega in a not so Omega friendly world. Coach just wanted to protect him, but Suzanne wanted him to be independent and free.

Bitty flitted over to the iHome that was on his desk, he briefly flipped through his playlists before he found the one he had specifically designed that had the best mix of heavy bass and high pitched vocals to cover his noises. Eric took a deep breath, plugged the phone into the stereo, his right hand gripping the dildo, before turning to the bed and sat down gently, and turned Señor Bun's head, he didn't have to watch this.

He stretched out on the bed, his head on the pillow, and toes pointed to the end of the frame. Eric drug his hand from his neck down to his chest, using his free hand to circle one nipple. Bitty bit his lip, as he pinched and pulled at his reddened nub. His other hand let go of the dildo to rub down his torso. Eric might not have been as built as his teammates, but he did have defined abs, which he slid his hand down. Bitty tugged at the light blond hair that started just below his navel.

Eric knew that many male Omegas shaved excess hair, to be more appealing, but Bitty liked it. The rough feeling of where it covered his calves, thighs, arms, his stomach and groin, pleased Eric. The offset to the traditional image of the Omega that was hairless, with soft skin, dainty little hands, and small bodies, Eric loved that he wasn’t that. That he wasn’t the dainty little Omega that the world wanted to be.

His fingers skimmed the waistband of his boxers, tugging lightly at the elastic before venturing down farther to the bulge that was growing under the red fabric. Eric’s fingers traced the line of his cock, enjoying the weight of it. He was only half hard, but Bitty knew that would change soon enough. His hand that was playing with nipple switched to the other one, giving it the same treatment: light pulling and tugging and twisting and pinching, only to smooth it back out and to do it all over again.

Eric’s right hand moved from his dick to the place where he really wanted it to be, his fingers brushed the slick soaked cotton, before pressing in on his hole. Eric threw his head back and groaned, yeah, this was exactly what he had needed after practice that morning. His hole fluttered under his fingers and through the fabric.

Bitty quickly shimmied out his boxers, tired of teasing himself. His cock popped out of the red cotton, flushed almost to the same brilliant shade—he was fully hard now. Eric took the hand that had been playing with his nipples and swiped it through the slick that slowly slipping out of his hole. He brought his now slick-damp hand up to his cock, and leisurely pumped it, up and down at a crawling pace. Eric twisted his head on the pillow, looking for a way to get as close but as far away from the toe-curling pain pleasure of his own tempo.

Bitty’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and continued with his strokes of his cock, before using his other hand to grab the dildo from where he had left it on the bed next to him. Eric set the dildo on his stomach, and then reached down and rubbed at his hole—collecting more of his slick, his fingers dipped in briefly, and Eric couldn’t hold in the moan that escaped, it flitted out into the room and got lost in the music that was coming through the speakers on his desk.

Eric used his own slick to prep the dildo, getting it nice and wet so it would be easy when he put it in himself. He let go of his cock, where he had been pulling at it slowly, and rolled over onto his side, pulling one leg up to his chest. Eric gripped the dildo and reached around his back to nudge the head of it against his hole, he bit his lip at the sensation of it, and then pressed in farther with it.

There was no use in even trying to hold in the moan that pushed its way out of Bitty’s throat, and he really didn’t want to. Eric wrapped his free hand around his cock again, holding it at the base, and then slowly dragged it up and down the length. He pushed the dildo in farther until he was at the hilt of it, right where the inflatable knot was, his fingers turned and he searched for—ah, there it was. Eric turned the dial on very end of the dildo, and the vibrations threw his head back, a high-pitched keen getting lost with the singer’s voice. His hand that was on his dick worked faster, quickly moving up and down the shaft, swiveling a few times around the head, before going back down to his base and gripping tightly. Eric hand on the dildo pulled it out a few inches only to shove it back in and twist it, again and again.

It scrapped by his prostate, and Eric keened again, head thrown back, blond hair matted from old and new sweat, and face flushed high with red, and it spread down his neck to chest. Both hands were a blur, and Eric bucked between the hardness inside of him, and the tight clench of his fist. But it wasn’t enough.

His fingers on the dildo moved again, and found the button that would inflate the knot. Eric let out a half sob–half keen as the knot started to catch on the rim of his hole, once, twice and then finally Bitty shoved it all the way in, the fake knot firmly planted inside his hole. He rocked back firmly on it, the vibrations running through his body. Eric fisted his cock with new vigor, searching for his orgasm.

It finally hit him, and Eric let out a louder sob than before, hips grinding onto the knot in his ass, fist pumping out every drop of cum, and spraying it all over his chest and arm, and some even reached his chin. Bitty coasted the waves of the high from his orgasm, and as he fell down from it, chest rising and falling quickly from the weight of it, he twisted the dial to turn off the vibrating. He didn’t deflate the knot yet, still enjoying the fullness from it. Eric imagined what it would be like to have a real Alpha’s knot in his ass, firm calloused hands gripping his hips, and teeth biting into his shoulder, claiming him. An aftershock rocked through Bitty, and a weak whimper slipped out of his open mouth.

He pressed the button to deflate the knot, moaning sadly as it went down, and pulled the dildo out of his hole, and just threw it on the bed. Eric was going to have to take a shower, wash his sheets—even though he had just put them on the bed the day before—in the communal laundry room in the basement of his dorm, and air out his entire room.

Eric wiped his fingers through the mess on his chest, and popped the fingers into his mouth. He moaned around his fingers, enjoying the taste of himself. Fine, Samwell could be his home if he could have orgasms like this with the knowledge that his parents weren’t somewhere in the building, hearing every noise that he let loose.

 

Over the next week of only being surrounded by his teammates, Eric became accustomed to each of their individual scents, even if they were dulled by the suppressants. He still messed up which of the two Alphas were Ransom and Holster, but he was able to tell the difference between their smells. They both had very similar wet earth smells, but one had bit of a soft cinnamon smell with more of a spicy side to it—an almost nutmeg smell, but different, and the other smelled of bon fire smoke and cotton.

Johnson smelled of moss, coffee, and a third smell that Bitty was still trying to place; almost a burning smell, but with a hint of metal to it. It wasn’t attractive in the way that Ransom and Holster’s smells were, but that came from Johnson being a Beta. Shitty had a smell that had less to do with pheromones and more to do with the life that Shitty lived—stale beer, an ambiguous marijuana scent that never left, and hair grease. Where Johnson’s scent was abrasive, somehow Shitty’s was comforting—if Eric could ever get over the smell of pot.

Jack’s scent was one that Eric spent the most time trying to pull apart, most Alphas that he knew had two to three smells mixed together—Jack had at least five. The sweetest of the scents, maple, was the easiest to place, but it was never directed at Bitty, it was always because of something Shitty or Ransom or Holster had done or said, but never Bitty. The hardest was the slightly smokiness that came off of Jack when he was screaming at one of them, because it was rare to grab onto—but Bitty placed it: firework smoke. The other smells fell into place, the warm smell of baking bread, the pinch of ice, and then a sourness that Eric couldn’t put a finger on; something that offset the mixture of scent that was purely Jack Zimmerman.

A scent that was nearing, and settling into the seat across the breakfast table from him accompanied the Alpha attached to it, and the words that flowed out in French-Canadian accent, “Bittle, you need to eat more protein.”

Eric clenched his jaw, and it took almost all of his will power to not stare off into a fake camera like The Office. He did have to admit that his breakfast that morning consisted of a Danish and CoCo Puffs, but Jack didn’t need to be up in his business, telling him what to eat—even if Jack was the captain.

Shitty was sitting on Eric’s left talking animatedly with his mouth full of bacon to Johnson who was sitting on Jack’s right. Ransom and Holster were farther down, laptops and books strewn across the table along with their breakfast.

“Bro, did that Omega girl text you back.”

“Chyeah, bro, but fuck I dunno bro, her texts seem kind of cold,” Holster—err, was it Ransom?—spoke sullenly, his chin in one hand.

“For real? She use emojis?”

“Just one.”

Ransom—or was it Holster?—cracked a huge smile, “Then it’s chill, emojis always mean mad Omega pussy.”

Eric wished he hadn’t tuned into their conversation, despite spending a full week with these guys, he was constantly reminded that they were still Alphas, and Alphas really only thought about two things: getting aggression out and fucking Omegas. Bitty quickly scooped the rest of his cereal into his mouth, desperate to get away from the table.

Shitty clapped his hand on Eric’s shoulder, “Whoa, fucking calm down there, bro, you’re going to choke, and we don’t need that in the preseason.”

Eric wiped his hand across his mouth, “Sorry, I just remembered that I have class at 9:35, so I need to get going.”

“Carry on, Bitty. Don’t die on the walk either,” Shitty said with a smirk before letting go of Eric’s shoulder.

Bitty shoved the book he had out back into his backpack, before pulling it on, then scooped up his dishes and almost sprinted to the dish return. He stood outside of the dining center, heart thundering in chest. Eric had been avoiding team breakfast for this very reason—it was fine to play with them, it was fine to change in the locker room, but hearing them talk that way. To objectify Omegas just because they thought there weren’t any around, it got under Eric’s skin. He knew that they didn’t mean anything by, that they would be talking the same way even if they were discussing a Beta girl, but it still hurt.

Eric pushed off from the wall, where the brick had started to bite into his back, and began to navigate his way through the campus, which was ridiculously confusing. His body ached with each step, the rigorous workouts from each morning taking the obvious toll on his body. He hadn’t felt this way in years, probably not since the Junior Regionals in 2010, Eric had been in his figure skating prime then. In fact, it was his last competition before he made the switch to hockey.

Eric had included some of his routines on his application video, because he knew that the coaches would be dissuaded from taking in a five foot six winger, he had to prove that he was worth being on the roster. When they had sent Eric the scholarship award letter, his mother almost fainted, and Coach had never looked so proud.

Bitty opened the door to the academic building, not enjoying how the AC was blasting. It was already too cold up North to be considered summer, it was maybe 80 degrees outside.

Eric scanned the hallways, looking for his classroom; he found it at the end of the hallway on the second floor. It was only 9:25, so Eric settled into a desk in the middle of the class and pulled out his phone and launched the twitter app. It was a perfect time to tweet, actually according to Eric, every moment was a perfect time tweet. Live tweeting was one his favorite forms of tweeting. He might not have the biggest following, but damned if he wasn’t going to keep them updated on his life.

After only being around the muted scents of Alphas for the past week, Eric’s senses had a shock when he smelled unsuppressed Alpha. Bitty looked up, eyes searching out the Alpha. He was tall, and had curling black hair and dark eyes that stared into Bitty’s. The Alpha lowered himself into the desk next to Bitty, and smiled. It wasn’t the too sharp smile that Eric had expected, it was soft and friendly; with a jolt, Eric remembered that he didn’t smell like a sweet little Omega. He smelled like a Beta.

The Alpha stuck out his hand, “I’m Adam.”

Eric shook his hand, thankful that his own wasn’t shaking, “Eric.”

“Is this your first class?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eric flushed a little, was he that obvious?

“Cool, I’m a sophomore, so I could show you around a little, if you wanted.”

Was Eric seriously being hit on right now? By an attractive Alpha? Who didn’t know that he was an Omega? Eric was hit with another shock, how did this Alpha know that he was gay?

It was one thing to be an Omega, but it was another to be gay. With the majority of the world Betas, homophobia was still rampant. Most Betas thought of Alpha and Omega relationships as disgusting, that they were animals succumbing to their instincts. And in the case where Alpha and Omegas were together, it was still heavily influenced for it to be a Male and Female bond. Same sex Alpha and Omega relationships were still considered taboo, and the male Omegas usually were the daintiest things. With soft hands, long hair, and small lithe bodies. Eric was none of those things.

Even worse than Alpha and Omega bonds were Alpha and Alpha bonds or Omega and Omega bonds; it had only become legal in select states for same orientation bondmates to completely fulfill their bondrights.

Eric was still concerned, this Alpha thought he was a Beta, and thought he was gay—okay, the Alpha was right about one of those two things.

Bitty rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, thanks but no thanks. I’m on the Hockey team, so the upperclassmen were supposed to show us around sometime in the next few weeks.”

“Ah, so you're an ice man?”

Eric tugged at the edge of his shirts, he had gotten so comfortable around his teammates that he forgot how to actually interact with Alphas, “You could say that. I've always loved skating, but I'm not focused only on it.”

Adam pursed his lips, “You're playing for a college team and you're not only focused on it?”

“Well, I love Hockey, but I'm not letting consume my life. I like to do other things, too.”

Raising an eyebrow, Adam opened his mouth the reply, but the professor decided to start class then.

Eric learned two things from the class period: that the first week of class was called syllabus week and he probably wasn't going to spend the entire class period actually in class, and that it was easy to get lost in a crowd. The professor dismissed the class, and everyone got up quickly, swinging backpacks on and talking. It was easy for Eric to slip away before Adam the Alpha spotted him.

He ducked between his building and the next over, and pulled out his phone, fully prepared to tell all of his twitter followers how he just got awkwardly hit on before his gen ed econ class.

**@omgcheckplease**

_Ah, nothing is quite like getting hit on at 9:35 in the morning to the tunes of your old professor babbling about economics #Fail_

Eric’s finger was hovering over the post button, ready to send it out to the world, when his phone started to blow up with texts.

The SMH group message was on that Bitty wished he wasn’t part of, but was so happy to be included. At least twelve times a day it would blow up in random fire succession, chirping in every text. Eric scrolled through the texts, trying to find what caused the influx of texts and—oh, it was a picture of him. Standing exactly where he was now, in the exact same stance.

**Ransom**

_#Spotted u gnna stand_

_there all day?_

Eric’s head snapped up, looking for the culprit. And there he was, and that answered which one was Ransom and which one was Holster. Ransom stood about 20 feet away with a huge shit eating grin on his face, his Bruins snapback backwards, his henly pushed up to his elbows, and pink cargo shorts on. Eric was saddened that he knew someone who legitamtely dressed like that. But, he waved anyway, clutched his backpack tighter and scurried over.

“Bitty, bro, you were just standing there for like five minutes just staring at your phone,” Ransom clapped Eric on the shoulder, the warmth of his hand seeping through Eric’s thin button up. He faintly smelled of almost nutmeg, and Eric connected the face the name and the scent all together to form Justin Oluransi.

Bitty shook his phone at Ransom, “I was tweeting.”

“Bro, you tweet? Fucking follow me! I’m just underscore in underscore underscore coco.”

Eric quickly navigated through the search page, “Okay, followed. Did you need something?”

Ransom smiled down at Bitty again, “Swawesome, I’m meeting a couple of the guys at Founder’s, wanna come?”

“Yeah, I have time.” Bitty smiled at Ransom, happy to know that Ransom thought of him as more than just a teammate, maybe as a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr, thelittlestcaptainamerica


	2. We Just Got To Let It Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the response to this fic!  
> My summer classes are about to pick up, so updates might slow down (or maybe they won't, who knows, I'm a renowned procrastinator). 
> 
> Also, all chapter titles are going to be from Beyonce's album Lemonade.

_Hands pulled at Bitty’s skin, pushing him down into the mattress. Heat pooled in every part of Eric’s body, but that heat was laced with pain. He didn’t want this._

_“Be quiet, little omega, I know what’s good for you,” the Alpha’s voice was ragged, breathing heavily into Eric’s ear._

_No. No. No._

_He didn’t want this. He did not. He did n—_

Eric shot straight up in his bed, sweat dripped off of his brow—actually every part of his body—and it was seeped into the sheets. Eric groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, of course he would have this dream—well, nightmare—before hockey practice, it couldn’t have been on the day he has off; no, it had to be before he was faced with a group of Alphas who wouldn’t know why he smelled faintly of Frightened Omega.

Bitty took a curious whiff of his armpit, and yeah, Frightened Omega overpowered any Beta smell he was trying to have, and frankly Eric was surprised there wasn’t an Alpha beating down his door to protect him from an attacker, which this case was his own mind. He pushed out of his bed, stripped off the sheets to wash—it was going to be the third time that week—and balled them up and put them at the bottom of hamper, and doused the whole thing in his body spray. That would keep it protect from visiting Alpha noses. Eric saw Señor Bun laying just under his bed and swooped the rabbit up to give it a whiff—passable, Señor Bun didn’t have to be washed with the rest of his bedstuff (and frankly, Bitty was happy about that, because that meant there wouldn’t be a possible recreation of the Washing Machine Incident of 2006 that left Señor Bun without one of his original eyes).

Eric grabbed his shower caddy and headed towards the bathroom, hoping to get all of the Omega smell off. It had been easier to pass as a Beta than Eric ever thought it would, Adam the Alpha had left him alone since that first day, and everyone looked beyond his height and cute face when they heard he was on SMH, but it was still hard trying to keep the act up. It was two weeks into the school year, and Holster had called him out on never showering with the rest of the team after practice.

“Bitty, bro, you do know we have showers here, right? You don’t have to sprint off to your dorm after every practice,” Holster had said it with a smile on his face—thinking he was helping a little freshman who didn’t know.

But Eric knew, he knew that the showers in Faber were actually just one large room without dividers or curtains, and it would be next to impossible to use his Beta body wash without them all noticing, but now that Holster had called him out, he knew had to use the shower.

Which is why he had walked 15 minutes away from campus to a pharmacy to get Beta bar soap, it was easier to hide than his body wash, but not nearly as effective. Also, bar soap made his skin feel tight, and it didn’t leave feeling as clean. The cashier had given Bitty a knowing look, but didn’t comment on his purchase.

Eric knew he wouldn’t be able to change his underwear pad after practice with all of them there either, the crinkle of the plastic would get their attention and they would ask too many questions, even if he went into the bathroom. They would want to know why he was opening up plastic in the bathroom because they were sometimes as nosy as the little old ladies at Eric’s church, and then the secret would get out.

Eric turned the shower off, wishing he could delay going to practice, to delay what was going to happen. He knew that they wouldn’t do anything to him because he was an Omega—in the short amount of time that Eric had known Shitty, Shitty had gone off on tangents about Omega Rights, and that the Alphas on the team needed to get their heads out of their asses about Omegas. He knew Shitty would understand, would get why exactly Bitty had hid his orientation, but the others would not get it at all.

Eric slowly changed into the outfit he was going to wear after practice, double checked that his practice sweater was in his duffle, and then headed out of his room and down the stairs.

The walk over to Faber was tedious, having to cross the river and walking through the many Quads, Eric would never understand why Samwell demanded on have four separate Quads, one would have done the job. But it stretched out the walk to practice, making it seem like it was a ways away.

Eric thought back on his nightmare from that morning—it wasn’t new, it was recurring. It had been coming and going since Eric went back to school after his first heat, his classmates had all looked at him differently, even if they were eighth graders. Eric had been happy when they transferred schools before high school, that Coach had been an actual presence in the building, so his Alphas never touched Eric, but they gave him looks that seared the same way that touching him would have.

In fact, Eric had always hated being touched by unfamiliar Alphas, and that transferred over to Eric hated contact sports, because Alphas would definitly pounce on him. He walked through the North Quad, and thought about how his dad had tried to get him to play Football when he was little, but most of the other kids were Alpha boys. His mother had only agreed because there was a no tackle policy, but when he got accidentally tackled the first time during the first game, he had hated every second of it. The feeling of the Alpha over him was terrible, and he never wanted to feel it again, the fear of being held down and taken. Bitty shivered, and it definitely wasn’t because it was cold out.

The no-checking policy in his CoEd Club Hockey Team had been the main reason he had joined and why Suzanne agreed to it. After the move Eric hadn’t been able to keep up figure skating, and Morgan County High offered Hockey, so it was the only option to stay on the ice. He didn’t have to worry about being pressed into the boards or the ice by an Alpha who didn’t see him as an opponent but saw him as prey.

Eric pulled open the door to Faber, ready to get the practice over with so he could go eat breakfast and not be humiliated on the ice. He loved Hockey, don’t get him wrong, but sometimes he wished that Hockey wasn’t so brutal. Bitty loved watching the games, seeing the plays, he loved sliding along with ice, smacking the puck, but he hated getting thrown into the boards. And that day’s practice was going to be a scrimmage, Coach Murray had picked out the teams at the previous day’s practice.

Bitty pushed into the locker room, already rowdy at the early hour.

“Yo, Bitty, man, where you been?” Ransom called to him from across the room, in his stall between Holster and Shitty.

“Not wanting to see your face,” Eric chirped back, and settled into the stall with “Bittle” at the top which was next to the one that said “Birkholtz”.

“Bro, you know you love this,” Ransom shimmied and rubbed his hands up and down the sides of his naked torso.

“Yeah, no, if I wanted a hyper active Alpha, I would go somewhere else,” Bitty said with a smile—it was still weird to talk this way, but Eric was getting a hang of chirping the guys.

Ransom stared at him in shock.

“Rans, bro, he didn’t mean it,” Holster was holding back laughter while trying to comfort Ransom.

Eric slipped off his button up and pulled on his underarmor, one of the pros of having his orientation hidden is that he didn’t have to worry about any of his teammates watching him change. He stripped to just his underwear, glad that he changed into his jockey back in his dorm, they were tight enough to cover any crinkling from the pad, but not too tight to show the outline of them. He started to strap on his pads when Shitty started going off about a think piece he had to read for a class.

“It’s fucking bullshit, some states don’t even allow Omegas to go on heat suppressants, unless it's for sports reasons, and even then the Omega has to go out of state to get a prescription. Like what kind of horsecock is that?”

Bitty’s hands froze on the Velcro of his pads, of course this had to be the piece that Shitty had read. Shitty was prone to go off on Omega rights, LGBT rights, or Beta women rights at least once a day, since one of his two majors was Women, Gender, Sexuality, and Orientation Studies.

“What do you mean?” Holster questioned from next to Bitty.

“Like in Texas and Alabama, and I think Ohio is getting in on the fuckery as well, but basically if you’re an Omega and you don’t want to have a heat, you’re fucked in those states. They’re more likely to give you fucking birth control than heat suppressants, which really they should go hand in hand, but these fucking Alpha politicians don’t see that way. And don’t even get me started on the states that allow heat suppressants, but only like three fucking practices are allowed to prescribe them.”

Ransom looked shockingly at Shitty, “Are you for real man? Even with a condom, I never fuck Omegas who aren’t on both heat suppressants and birth control, like I’m fucking twenty, I don’t need a litter of little Oluransis right now.”

Holster cuffed Ransom’s shoulder, “They would be adorable as fuck, bro.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Shitty waved his hand at them, “But these are also the states that allow rut suppressants, because Alpha’s can’t ‘control themselves’, but Omegas don’t get that same treatment, fucking stupid as fuck.”

Eric finished strapping his pads on, and started to put his uniform on, trying to tune out Shitty’s speech.

Eventually, the whole team piled out onto the ice and split up into their teams. Bitty had ended up on Jack’s team, and he was only slightly terrified of that. The practice was going well, his team was up by one, and he had been connecting his passes, but then Jack passed by, the smell of maple and baking bread following him, “Bittle, heads up!”

Bitty’s head snapped up, to see Holster coming in to check him, and he didn’t exactly mean to drop to the ice, but somehow he was curled up on the ice, and he couldn’t unlock his muscles. He knew that Holster wouldn’t hurt him, but some part of him was still scared of being slammed, scared of being hurt, scared of not being in control, scared of being held down.

The maple and baking bread smell was close, and stronger with a hint of firework smoke, “…or you could get into fetal position on the ice, that’s also an option,” Jack weakly chirped. His voice was muffled, so Eric could only assume that he had his gloves in his face, but Bitty couldn’t look up from where his muscles were frozen.

Coach Murray skated over to him, “Bittle. Hey, son, you okay?”

Eric could hear Holster chirping him, but he couldn’t focus on it. He could barely get his words out, “If you…just…slide me…down to the bench, I’ll be fine, Coach.”

Coach Murray helped pull Bitty onto his feet, and pushed him in the direction of the bench, Eric could still hear Holster, Ransom, and Shitty chirping him, but it had something to do about fainting goats. Bitty collapsed onto the bench, he saw Jack skate up to Coach Murray, anger plain on his face. Firework smoke filled Eric’s nose.

 

The rest of the practice had seen him mostly on the bench, but he had gotten back out on the ice for a few minutes towards the end of the scrimmage, and luckily no more fainting had occurred.

He had quickly grabbed his things and almost sprinted to the shower, taking probably the shortest shower of his life. He had quickly soaped up with the bar soap, and thankfully it wasn’t overpowering Beta smell, and quickly washed all the important parts—except for one, of course, and had hopped out of the shower room before even some of the team had changed out of their gear.

“What the fuck, Bitty, is your hair even wet?”

Eric had dodged Holster’s hand when he had stuck out his hand to ruffle Bitty’s hair, “What’s it to you, wanting to see me in the shower?”

“Psh, in your dreams, Bitty.”

That had gotten a laugh out of most of the guys in the locker, but Eric had felt a burning gaze on his back, and saw that Jack had been glaring at him.

Of course, Jack had been pissed at him. Eric had ruined the play.

“Ah, fuck, I think I left my fucking underwear at the Haus,” Shitty had groaned from two stalls over.

Eric had peered at Shitty, raising one eyebrow, “The Haus?”

Shitty had stared at Bitty in disbelief before realization dawned on him, “Ah, fuck, we didn’t take you on the Taddy Tour, did we? Ah, fuck.”

“‘Taddy Tour’?” Bitty asked in confusion, but Shitty was already yelling over him.

“All you fucking frogs better show up to the Haus on Saturday morning, eleven am sharp, it’s on Jason Street across from those fucking LAX douche nozzles.”

The rest of the frogs had mumbled their affirmative that they would be there.

Which is how Eric found himself, and the four other frogs in front of a pseudo-frat house that looked like it should be condemned. Shitty was standing on the lowest step of the porch in front of Eric and the rest of the frogs, and he was definitely taking his position as Taddy Tour Guide too seriously, but then again Shitty seemed to take everything too seriously.

“Good Morning, frogs,” Shitty called out to them, even though he was only 5 feet away, he exaggerated the “oo” in good, almost like he was a drill sergeant in a bad war movie, “You, the uninitiated of the Samwell Hockey Team, have the distinct and unparalleled honor of entering for the very first time, our humble abode: The Haus.”

Eric took in the sight of the Haus, and wasn’t really impressed. Well maybe he was impressed with the fact that there were red solo cups strewn across the yard and bushes, lawn chairs on the porch roof, and Bitty had certain thoughts about the armchair that was pushed up against the Haus. Thoughts like: where was the closest dump was, and could he haul that armchair there by himself without actually touching it?

Shitty continued on with his speech, talking about how either they would have the best experiences or the worst in the Haus, before gesturing for the frogs to follow him into the Haus. Eric was slightly afraid that the porch was going to collapse, but it proved to be sturdy. In fact, the entire building looked like it was sturdier upon closer inspection than Bitty thought it was going to be.

Eric stepped into the Haus and got dizzy from how potent the smell was. If he thought that Faber was bad, it had nothing on the Alpha stink in the Haus. But, unlike the first time he walked into Faber, the pheromones of the Haus were comforting. It was a mix of almost nutmeg, wet earth, bonfire, maple, baking bread, ice, coffee, and beer; it was almost like Eric was smelling the collective armpit of Ransom, Holster, Johnson, Shitty, and Jack. And the Haus actually did smell like armpit as well.

The rest of the frogs followed Shitty through the Haus, but Eric stopped outside of a room in the main hallway. A kitchen. An actual kitchen with an actual oven he could use. Eric felt lured into the room, but it was the saddest kitchen he had seen in a while, there were solo cups with varying levels of old beer everywhere, an empty keg sitting on the table in the middle of the room, and dishes were piling up on the sink.

“I bet no one’s cooked anything but pot brownies in you, you poor thing,” Eric muttered to himself, “Well! Let’s see what you got to work with.”

Eric started puttering around, opening the cabinets, and somehow one cabinet was only filled with Siracha. Bitty dragged a hand down his face, how could they only fill one cabinet with Siracha? What would posses a person—wait, he had forgotten that Shitty was a real person who would do that.

It had been weeks since Eric had baked a real pie, so as soon as he found flour, sugar, salt, and butter, he got to work. Eric saw an apron hanging off of the inside of the pantry door, and his mother always said the best baker were an apron, and he wasn’t going to disappoint her now. He pulled out the large bowl he found in one of the cabinets, and gave it a quick rinse in the sink. There weren’t any actual measuring cups in the Haus’ kitchen, so Eric made do with a clean solo cup.

He measured out the flour in the cup, having to go back with the solo cup. Eric pulled one of the plastic spoons out the discarded boxes on the counter and eyeballed the measurements for the sugar and salt. The butter was going to be another story, but Eric and Suzanne had successfully made pies without butter sticks available. There was a mixing spoon lying on the kitchen table, stained a pink color, Eric also washed it off in the sink, and then got to beating the ingredients into dough. With Bitty’s capable hands the dough quickly became consistent enough to roll out and shape into the crust that Eric wanted. He grabbed a dish towel, wet it, and cleaned off some counter space, he reached into the flour bag and pulled out a handful and covered the clean space with it. Then Eric hit a roadblock, he didn’t have a rolling pin. Eric spun around the room searching for an object that would fit the size he needed, he spotted an empty wine bottle on the floor—it would have to do. Eric washed it off in the sink and then started to roll out the crust.

Eric found 2 cartons of mostly fresh strawberries and decided on his filling. Eric filled a saucepan with diced strawberries from one of the cartons and a cup of sugar, and started to caramelize them for the filling. Bitty had just poured the filling into the pie crust and put the lattice work on when he realized that he had an audience.

Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and the rest of the frogs stared at him in shock.

Holster let out a soft “bro.”

Eric fumbled with his words, “Oh. Hey. Everyone,” Eric laughed weakly, “Sometimes when I’m in kitchens, I just…Pies appear.”

Shitty rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “Wow. We’ve only been here for 5 minutes.”

Eric raised his eyebrows, he had successfully made a rough pie in 5 minutes? Okay, he had definitely been itching to bake.

Ransom pointed at the pie in Bitty’s hands, “Bro, is that, like done? It smells so good.”

“Uh, no, I preheated the oven, so it just has go in.”

“What’s that smell then?” Holster asked from beside Ransom.

Bitty set the pie back on the counter, and took one oven mit off to rub the back of his neck, “Oh, I made the filling.”

Ransom and Holster stared at him for a beat, before grabbing him and lifting him up, “Can we keep him, can we keep him,” they chanted at Shitty.

Shitty shrugged at them before shoving his hands in his pockets, “He’s already on the team, so I guess we’re keeping him.”

Ransom and Holster lifted Bitty higher, shouting in joy. The oven beeped behind them.

“Uh, guys, sorry but I need to put the pie in the oven—”

Ransom and Holster dropped him gently back to the ground.

“You fucking make that pie, Bitty,” Holster said giving Eric’s shoulder a playful budge.

Bitty felt a little better about his standing with the team.

 

Eric was fucked, truly and utterly fucked. He was three weeks into the school year and he was already behind on his classes. Bitty groaned and drug his hand down his face and shoved away from the table, tipping the chair onto its back legs. Ransom looked up from his laptop.

“Bro, what's wrong?”

“I don’t understand math, like what the heck do you even do with a matrix?”

Ollie looked up from down the table, “That shitty movie series with the guy from _Bill and Ted_?”

Holster scoffed at Ollie, “No, fuckface, you’re thinking of the amazing 1999 classic _The Matrix_ starring Keanu Reeves, with sequels that don’t exist and _we don’t talk about_. Bitty boy here is talking about how to solve systems of equations.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t you learn how to solve matrices in High School?” Jack pronounced matrices the way he would in French, making it a two syllable word instead of three, and having a long e sound.

Eric groaned again, and resisted the urge to throw his calculator at Jack’s perfect French Canadian Alpha face and perfect French Canadian Alpha cheekbones. Instead he slammed his chair back down onto all four legs, “No, my Algebra II teacher told us that we didn’t have to worry about it if we weren’t going to take Calc—and trust me, I wasn’t going to take Calc.”

Jack just rolled his eyes, focusing back in on the history textbook in front of him. Jack was focused on everything in was life a determination that made Bitty feel like throwing up, no one should be that focused on homework.

Shitty slapped down a book next to Eric, and Bitty about jumped out of his skin.

“You think a fucking university that’s so liberal would have a better fucking stocked section on Omega rights. Like there was one fucking shelf, I’m going to fucking fight a librarian,” Shitty slammed down into the empty seat next to Eric.

“Shits, you’re not going to fight a librarian,” Jack said, not even looking up from his textbook.

“The hell I won’t,” Shitty muttered, crossing his arms and pushing his chair on the back two legs.

“When the fuck is Lardo coming back,” Ransom asked from his spot on the other side of Holster.

“Yeah, when is Lardo coming back, Shits?” Holster asked looking at Shitty over his glasses.

“Next semester, Lardo is studying abroad this semester, you fuckheads. You knew that,” Shitty waved his hands at them.

“Who’s Lardo?” Sometimes the guys forgot that Bitty was a frog, and he had to ask stupid questions like this.

“Team Manager,” they all responded at once.

Shitty let his chair fall back down to all fours, “Whatcha got over there, Bitty boy?” Shitty peered at Eric’s notebook.

“Matrices, I just don’t get them.”

“No prob, dude, I’ll fucking help ya.”

“Okay, good. I have an exam over them tomorrow, and I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“Bitty!” came the resounding chorus of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team study session.

Eric just laughed.

Afterwards, Eric and Ollie walked back to the dorms together, they lived in the same building but on different floors.

“Bro, how did you even get into Samwell if you hate studying so much? I had a 3.9 and barely got in,” Ollie said walking backwards in front of Eric.

“Oh, I’m on a scholarship for Hockey.”

Ollie stopped, “Wait, _you’re_ on a scholarship?”

Bitty shrugged, his thumbs resting under his backpack straps on his chest, “Yeah, Coach Murray and Coach Hall really liked my tape. Something about how fast I was and that I had soft hands, I dunno. I was surprised too.”

Ollie started walking again, “Well, yeah, you are probably the fastest out of us, but you drop all the time whenever someone comes to check you.”

Eric rolled his eyes, “My league in high school had a no checking policy, so it’s been an adjustment. Not as much as transferring to Hockey from Ice Skating, but.” Bitty shrugged.

Ollie had swiped his ID through the card reader to let them back into the dorms, but now he was staring at Eric, “You were an Figure Skater?”

Eric’s eyes got wide as he realized what he had just said, “Aw, shucks. Ollie, don’t tell the others. It’s bad enough I’m the shortest guy on the team, I don’t need them all knowing that I did _ice skating_.”

Ollie pulled open the door to the dorm. They walked in silence to the stairs.

“So, like were you any good?”

Eric shrugged, starting the climb, “Not to toot my horn, or anything, but I got to the Southern Junior Regionals, but I got second so I didn’t advance to the Eastern Junior Sectionals.”

“Wow, really?”

Bitty got to the top of the first flight—his floor, “Yeah. I ended up quitting because we moved the summer before High School started.”

“That sucks, well I’ll see you at practice tomorrow,” Ollie waved as he continued up the stairs to his floor.

 

Every time Eric thought he had a handle on how his life was going, he got smacked in the face with how he didn’t.

They were doing another scrimmage game at practice, and Bitty was doing good, his passes were connecting, his shots were only going wide once out of four times, but he was still dropping when anyone came at him.

Every time he fucked up and dropped when a check was coming, he felt stupid. Coach Hall was being nice about it—Eric knew that if Katya had been there she would have had him skate suicides each time he dodged a check—but he still felt disappointment each time one of the Coaches shook their head at him.

Bitty connected a pass to Ollie, which was good. Finding on ice chemistry had always been a problem for Eric.

“Watch out, Bittle!”

Eric’s eyes snapped up to see Ransom coming in to check him into the boards, and before Bitty could tell his muscles _no, stand tall_ , he was already on the ground curled up.

The entire team groaned, Jack glared at him from across the rink. Bitty pushed himself up, ready to apologize, but Jack had already skated over.

Firework smoke filled Eric’s nostrils, and there wasn’t the sweet maple to cut the edge of it.

Jack got up into Bitty’s face, “This isn’t a _joke_. Either get with the program or _quit_.” Jack skated off angrily after that, calling the team back into lines to get the scrimmage going again.

It took everything Eric had to not drop again, the venom in Jack’s voice was overpowering—he hadn’t just used his captain voice, he had used his alpha voice, and it made Bitty quake, it wasn’t the first time that Jack had screamed at him in front of the team, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. So, instead of dropping, Eric clenched his jaw. He _had_ been trying, and each time he dropped wasn’t like the first time, where he couldn’t unlock his muscles for a while afterwards. He was getting better at telling himself to shake it off, _why couldn’t Jack see that?_

Bitty gripped his hockey stick tighter, everything was riding on this. On him playing Hockey for Samwell, on him graduating from Samwell, on him proving everyone wrong back home that Omegas could succeed and go to college and work. If he couldn’t play Hockey, he wouldn’t be able to afford going to Samwell, he wouldn’t be able to afford going to college period. There weren’t any closer colleges that would accept an Omega.

Eric shook his head and joined the rest of the team to finish up the scrimmage—and luckily he didn’t drop again.

Afterwards the team skated back to the locker room, and Jack was in the showers before anyone else could even get their skates off, sour firework smoke filling the room so heavily that Eric felt like he couldn’t breathe.

He was half way out of his uniform when Ransom spoke up.

“Yo, Bitty, Jack gets real Alpha-Bitchy at the end of every preseason,” Ransom said leaning around Holster who was only in his towel, fresh from the shower.

“Yeah, he’ll get back to his regularly scheduled levels of Alpha-Bitchy after the first game,” Holster chipped in.

Shitty grunted from his spot, eyes trained on his phone, “Hey, when a bro’s dad is Bad Bob, a bro’s gonna turn into a fucking hockey Alpha every once in a while.”

Eric only stared at Shitty in confusion, was this one of those things that Shitty thought everyone knew but no one actually did?

“...Who’s Bad Bob...?”

They all stared at Bitty in disbelief, and fear started to churn in Eric’s stomach. What had he done? Was this all a joke? Were they about to turn on him?

“Wait, what did I—” Bitty swallowed around the lump in his throat, “Y’all quit staring at me! This is exactly what happened before the football team locked me in a utility closet overnight in the seventh grade.”

That had been a horrific experience for Eric, it could have been a lot worse, but he was sure it didn’t go farther than it could have if they weren’t afraid of what Coach would do. Instead, they just shoved the mouthy little Omega into the utility closet, saying that it was for his “own good” and he need to “learn his place in the world”. It had been the pheromones of Distressed Omega that had let his father find him.

Ransom shook his head, “How the fuck do you play hockey and not know who Bad Bob Zimmermann is?”

“I didn’t grow up in a hockey household, my dad likes football—”

“Fucking google him, Bitty,” Shitty said while looking at his phone.

Eric pulled out his phone, slightly relieved that he wasn’t about to be shoved into a closet where no one would find him, and typed three words into the search bar.

**Bad Bob Zimmermann**

Eric thumbed over to the images search, and the breath caught in Bitty’s throat. A man who was looked remarkably like Jack—sans the blue eyes—was hoisting the fucking Stanley Cup over his head. Oh, that explained so much.

Eric sat entrapped, thumbing through the image result page. There were four separate images of Bad Bob hoisting the Stanley Cup—four separate wins. Oh, god. Bitty hadn’t known. Of course this was why Jack lived and breathed hockey, because he grew up into it. Eric was sure that if he had any affinity for football, he would be the same way.

“Bitty, time to go,” Ransom sang in his ear, dragging out the go.

“Hmm, what?” Eric asked in a daze, he was shocked to see everyone mostly dressed. Jack’s stall was empty—he was gone.

“Breakfast, Bitty, I swear sometimes.” Ransom shook his head.

“Oh, okay.” Eric quickly stripped off the rest of his uniform—foregoing the shower. It was a Thursday, so he didn’t have class until eleven, so he could swing by his dorm and grab a quick shower after breakfast.

Eric followed Shitty, Ransom, and Holster out of the locker room, trailing behind. It was times like these that he still felt like an outsider he though while he watched Ransom and Holster playfully shoved at each other and wrestled while they walked and Shitty laughed and took snapchats of it.

“Hey, Bitty keep up!” Shitty called over his shoulder.

Eric jogged a little to keep stride with them.

Ransom asked from where Holster had him thrown over Holster’s should, “You still coming over tonight to back pies?”

Holster spun around to face Eric, Ransom shrieked as he was twirled, “Bro, can you make, like, a fucking chocolate one or something.”

Eric smiled and bounced on his toes, “Definitely, I’ll have to stop by one of the Stop and Shops to get some supplies, though.”

“’Swawesome,” Holster spun back to walk forward and Ransom struggled in his arms to get down.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Shitty turned to Eric, “Bitty, what do you think you did on that Math test? With the Matrices?”

Eric held onto the strap of his duffle, “Uh, I think I got at least a C. I just don’t get math. Or science. Or Composition. Or Econ.”

Shitty bumped shoulders with Eric, “Bitty, you got this. You just gotta hit the books harder, and not spend the whole time tweeting.” He laughed and leaned away from Bitty, dodging his shove.

“Now is not the time for chirping,” Eric mock yelled in anger, “And I don’t tweet the _whole_ time.”

“Yes, you do,” came the resounding chorus, only to be followed by laughs.

 

Eric stood in his shower in his suite; his roommates had already left for the ay so he was alone. He groaned when he looked down and saw that he was half hard. Of course, it almost always happened after he was in close quarters with the Alphas on his team, he wasn’t sexually attracted to any of them—despite how hot they all were, but his body still couldn’t get the picture.

It was mostly the suppressants fault, they had been designed (at least according to the number of Shitty’s rants about Omega rights) so that it would suppress heats, but not Alpha induced libido or the ability to have sex, while rut suppressants suppressed ruts, the majority of Omega induced libido, and to keep knots from forming. In Shitty’s words it was to “keep Omegas fuckable, but without the consequences.” Eric really hated it sometimes how Shitty was taking an Omega Rights course this semester.

Eric fisted his cock, he only had forty-five minutes before his first class so he didn’t have time to bust out his dildo and reshower, so a simple jerk off session would have to do the trick. He felt gross about doing it in the shower, but he had heard his roommates do it enough times that he wasn’t too worried.

He leaned one arm against the wall and slowly worked his other hand up and down his cock, he was almost fully hard. He twisted his palm across the head, and let out a soft groan. Eric pulled his hand back down the shaft, but pressed his thumb into the slit, and a hiss escaped through his clench teeth. He worked his fist faster, only pausing to swivel his palm over the head a few more times.

Eric bit his lip, to keep the sounds inside, but a groan was trapped in his throat. Eric felt his balls pull up, and he came over his hand and on the wall in front of him. Bitty panted, his head hanging. That relieved some of the tension that was in shoulders, but not all of it. He pushed himself off the wall, and started to clean up—himself and the wall.

Eric walked into his room afterwards, towel drying his hair. His clothes stuck to his skin from where he had missed spots in his drying. He definitely smelled better now, less like sweaty Omega and more like a freshly washed Beta, which was exactly what he wanted. Eric picked up his phone from where he left it on his bed in his hurry to get to the shower before his deodorant started to fully wear off. He unlocked it, only to see it was still on Bad Bob Zimmermann’s face.

Oh.

He had forgotten about it. Eric sat down on his bed, towel forgotten on the floor. He thumbed back over to main search page; he tapped on the Wikipedia link and started reading.

_Robert “Bad Bob” Zimmermann (Born January 20, 1957) was a Canadian professional ice hockey player; he played for the Montreal Canadiens and the Pittsburgh Penguins. He was won four Stanley Cups, three for the Canadiens and one for the Penguins. His orientation is Alpha._

_Zimmermann is also father of NCAA and QMJHL star Jack Zimmerman._

Eric froze. He knew someone who legitimately had their own Wikipedia page. He tapped on the link.

_Jack Laurent Zimmermann (Born August 3, 1990) is a current player for the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team, and a former player with Rimouski under QMJHL. His orientation is Alpha._

_Zimmermann is most notably known for holding the record for passing bowel movements in the Stanley Cup and for being the number one prospect of the NHL’s 2008 draft, but overdosed hours before the draft began._

Eric felt the phone start to slip out of his fingers, Jack…Jack Zimmermann…The Jack Zimmermann that he knew? Had overdosed… Bitty thumbed down to the table of contents (god, he actually knew someone with a table of contents on their Wikipedia page). There it was, under Personal Life, “Controversy”. Eric read, even with his fingers shaking.

_On June 20 th, 2008, Zimmermann was found unconscious in one of the bathrooms of Scotiabank Place. Rumors flew that Zimmermann had been a party boy, and that he had been abusing a slew of drugs: cocaine, meth, heroin, etc. Family and reps refused to comment on what Zimmermann overdosed on, but denied the rumors that Zimmermann had been abusing illegal narcotics. _

_Zimmermann ultimately went to a rehabilitation center in Montreal. Zimmermmann did not return to ice hockey until 2011 when he joined the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team._

Eric locked the phone screen. It felt…wrong to read about Jack like this. That he was learning what happened to Jack without Jack’s permission. Eric flopped back onto the bed, phone still in his grasp, wishing that he hadn’t gotten curious and followed the link. It was his own damn fault now; he shouldn’t have invaded Jack’s privacy like that. But was it really invading Jack’s privacy when it was on his Wikipedia? Logically, Eric knew that it wasn’t, but he still felt it was an invasion. Jack hadn’t told him about.

 _How would you feel if Jack found out you were an Omega without you telling him?_ The thought flitted through Bitty’s head, he would feel like his trust had been betrayed. And that settled it, he would never mention it to Jack. He assumed that the rest of the guys knew about the overdose, and they didn’t mention, so neither would he.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me over on tumblr at thelittlestcaptainamerica!


	3. It's Time to Listen, It's Time to Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Forward by Beyonce

Beyoncé’s voice filled the Haus’ kitchen, waxing about how if she were a boy she would understand. Bitty swayed to the music, humming along with Bey’s voice, a few words slipping out. Eric whipped the eggs to make meringue in the glass bowl in his arms, on the counter in front of him sat the dozen mini pie crusts sitting in silicone molds that he had already filled with the homemade lemon filling he and his mother had perfected.

Ransom was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open to the My Lab & Mastering Pearson website, but was texting on his phone. “Bro, I never came to the kitchen before except to get beer. It’s so different with it being clean.”

Eric laughed and looked over his shoulder, “It’s amazing what a little elbow grease will do.”

“Bro, you turned like a medical hazard zone into an actual functional kitchen.”

Bitty measured out the meringue, “My mother always said that a clean kitchen makes a happy kitchen, and a happy kitchen makes great food.”

Ransom slapped his phone down onto the table and leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face, “Yeah, well, your mom is right, bro. Those fucking little pie things look swawesome, when will they be ready?”

“I bake them 6 at a time, so like twenty to twenty-five minutes. And I told you, Ransom, they’re mini Lemon Meringue pies,” Eric laughed.

Ransom groaned, “Bits, man, you’re killing me here. I’m a growing boy, I need my nutrition.”

Jack strode into the kitchen, making a beeline straight for his protein powder that had shown up in the kitchen right after Bitty cleaned it, “Ransom, you’re twenty years old, and pies aren’t nutritious.”

Eric bristled up, how dare Jack come into his kitchen (okay, technically it was Jack’s kitchen) and insult his pies? Bitty opened his mouth, ready to duel it out but Ransom beat him to it.

“Jacky, bro, you say that, but you haven’t tried Bitty’s pies yet. They’re like the ambrosia of the gods.”

Jack just raised one eyebrow.

“Ransom, Rans!” Holster pounded down the stairs and skidded across the hardwood floors into the kitchen.

Ransom was halfway out of his chair, “Holster, bro, what’s wrong?”

Holster whipped up a picture frame from his side, “Rans, would it be weird if I kept this?”

Ransom flopped back down into the kitchen chair, “ _Yes_.”

Holster twisted his mouth, “…how weird?”

“Dude, c’mon.”

Eric shook his head, Alpha dynamics always confused him but Ransom and Holster confused him even farther.

Holster sighed, “I guess I won’t keep it, but if you weren’t sure what to get me…”

“Bro.”

Eric laughed. “You two are worse than the Omegas I used to figure skate with,” Eric froze as he realized what he just said.

He turned around and faced Ransom and Holster, whose mouths were hanging open with wide eyes.

“Figure skating? Bitty, you _did figure skating_?” Ransoms voice wasn’t pinched with discomfort; it was dripping with awe.

Eric wrung his hands, “Um, yes. I never made it to nationals or anything.”

Holster stood up, his hands on the table, “How far did you get?”

“I won Southern Junior Regionals a couple times—”

“A couple times!”

“—But I never got farther than third place at Sectionals.”

Ransom stared at him, “What are their names?”

“Whose names?”

Ransom frowned, “The judges, man? I will find them.”

“Ransom, its fine. It was years ago.”

“Do you any footage of it?”

Eric titled his head, “Not with me, but there should be some on YouTube.”

Ransom and Holster turned back to Ransom’s laptop, and started frantically typing.

Jack started to shake his protein blender, the sound of it masking over the soft excited bros that were being exchanged by Ransom and Holster. Bitty turned around and hummed along to the music as he put half of his mini pies into Betsy—listen, a man could name his kitchen appliances if he wanted to.

Jack downed his protein shake, cleaned out the container, and then left the kitchen without saying another word to them. Bitty was slowly coming to the understanding that Jack was a man of few words, he would only talk if it was about hockey or if he was delivering one line chirps. But besides that, Jack just didn’t talk. Before and after practices in the locker room he was silent, when he walked through the kitchen when Bitty was baking he was silent, when they were all at study sessions he was silent. Jack was just…quiet.

Which Eric didn’t get, he almost always was talking or singing or making some sort of noise, nothing was silent or quiet about Bitty, he was loud and bold. His mother had always said that Bitty was loud to make up for his size, so maybe Jack was quiet to make up for his? Eric still didn’t get it.

The timer dinged and Ransom and Holster froze at the table, turned in synchronization to Bitty, eyes wide.

Eric raised his wooden spoon at them, “Nuh-uh. Y’all do not get these pies until they’ve cooled down. Like my Moomaw always said, ‘you touch my pies, I smack you with a spoon,’ and looks like I have a spoon.”

Ransom and Holster twisted their mouths at the same time, obviously dissatisfied that there was a delay in pie consummation.

Eric pulled out the pies and slowly placed each one on the cooling rack, making sure that they were far enough away from each other. Bitty put the rest of the pies on the cooking sheet and threw a look over his shoulder, “I know how many pies are on that rack. Don’t touch them.”

Ransom and Holster pouting, widening their eyes and sticking their lower lips out fully. Bitty sometimes questioned if they really were the macho Alphas they acted like.

“It has to cool for two hours—”

“Two hours!”

“—and then you can eat,” Bitty gave them a pointed look and slipped the rest of the batch into the oven, adjusting the timer to make up for the fact that the oven was hotter, “I _can_ make something else in the mean time.”

Ransom and Holster looked at each other and then at Bitty and then back at each other, they nodded at each other before saying in unison, “Something with maple.”

“Maple?” Eric asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, bro, like Maple. My aunt makes this one pie with like maple in _the crust_ , it’s so good, but, Bitty bro, you could make it so much better than she could,” Ransom said with Holster nodding enthusiastically next to him.

“I’m going to have to do some research, but I _think_ I can make it,” Bitty tapped his chin, “I might have to call my mother.”

Holster leaned towards Bitty, “Okay, can you make another one of those chocolate pecan pies?”

Eric laughed, “That’s going to be the fifth one I’ve made for you, Holster.”

Holster collapsed in chair, his large frame sprawling out, “Bro, they’re _so_ good though.”

Eric shook his head and got out the supplies to make a full size pie.

“Bitty.”

Eric looked up at Ransom’s voice, “Are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Party?”

Holster groaned, “You didn’t invite him? Bro, you were in charge of inviting all the frogs!”

“No, you were supposed to invite them!”

“Guys, calm down, what party?” Bitty waved his spoon at them again.

Ransom launched into it, “We’re having a kegster—”

“—here at the Haus—”

“—on Friday—”

“—it starts at 10, but get here for set up at—”

“—9, it’s going to be epic.”

Ransom and Holster smiled at each other.

“We should really come up with a better name for these parties,” Holster said.

 

It was Eric’s first college party, and he was absolutely terrified. The only time he had drank alcohol before was when he was taking communion at Sunday church, and the red solo cup that Holster had shoved into his hand was daunting. The liquid inside tasted vaguely like the times Coach would make brats, but worse—meaning it was the cheap beer Shitty foretold about during the taddy tour.

Part of Bitty didn’t want to drink it, he was his mother’s son and she would have a conniption if she found out that he was underage drinking in a frat house without anyone there having her number. But the other part of Eric just wanted to let his metaphorical hair down and have fun, be normal college student who didn’t have to worry constantly.

So, he downed his first cup of beer, and then his second cup of beer. He was halfway through third cup when Selena Gomez’ “Come & Get It” came through the speakers in the darkened Haus living room.

Bitty let out a squeal and moved away from the wall to the center of the dance floor/living room, the song was a remix that had heavier bass to it—which normally would have made Eric pissed, but it somehow worked better for the party setting—and started to dance, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs. There was a cluster of drunken girls around him who were also belting the words, their hips moving to the beat.

One girl smiled at Bitty, mouthed—she could have yelled it actually, but the music was so loud Eric couldn’t hear pass his own heartbeat in his ears—at him, “Wanna dance?”

Eric smiled, and nodded. He loved dancing but had never had the opportunity to dance with another person before. The girl grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her, Eric’s hands found her hips, and the danced to the rest of the song. She had curly black hair that pressed against Eric’s face, and the sweet smell of Omega drifted from all over her.

When it ended she pulled away from him, the playlist had switched to a less bass heavy song, “Hi, I’m Maddy. Do you know someone on the team?” She smiled at him, her eyes glassy from the alcohol she had been drinking.

Bitty smiled back, chest light, “I’m on the team, actually.”

Maddy let out a squeal, “Oh my god! You’re on the team, do you know Jack Zimmermann? Is he here?”

Eric laughed awkwardly, “Yeah, Jack is great, he’s out of town this weekend, actually.”

Maddy pouted, “Oh.”

A beat passed between them, the song thumping in Eric’s eardrums.

She gripped her solo cup, “I’m going to go get more to drink,” and she slipped into the crowd.

That was the thing that Eric was having trouble grasping about college parties, it was so dark everywhere, and everyone just seemed to drift. Moving from conversation to conversation, strangers meeting for the first time and acting like they had known each other for years. The way the people who were in the kitchen playing beer pong were more sober than the people on the dance floor at the start of the party, but had somehow gotten more drunk. Eric wasn’t ever sure he was ever going to get a hold of partying.

A body bumped into his side, Eric looked up to see Holster smiling at him.

“Bitty, bro, how are you digging your first college party?”

“It’s been great,” Bitty smiled at him, the alcohol running through his veins, “Y’all need better music though.”

Holster frowned, “What? This music is great.”

Eric raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, for a Sadie Hawkins dance. Let me pick the music next time, please?”

“Pfft. Maybe, ask Ransom. He’s in charge of music.” Holster peered into Bitty’s cup, “Bro, you need more beer. Wait, have you tried Shitty’s tub juice?” Holster grabbed Bitty’s arm and started pulling him towards the kitchen.

“What is tub juice?”

“You know, jungle juice, but in a tub. Tub juice.”

Eric shook his head, “I am never going to drink something Shitty calls Tub Juice.”

Holster shrugged, “Suit yourself, bro.”

Eric could see the advantage of being tall when he watched the way Holster could part crowds, he was the tallest at the party, so everyone could see him coming. Holster reached back, grabbed Bitty, and shoved him forward in front of the keg.

Eric reached down and filled his cup up the way he had seen Ransom do it earlier. He turned to ask Holster a question, but he was already gone—at the Beer Pong table with Ransom, facing off against two girls from the tennis team. Eric sidled up next to the table, trying to understand the draw of playing beer pong.

Ransom and Holster had just moved their cups into a diamond formation and the girls had only two left, when Eric felt a hand clap down onto his shoulder. He looked up to see Shitty, his eyes were bloodshot and glassy, his hair was rumpled. Shitty was wearing only a pair of shorts that could be barely called clothes and a sequined vest, his smell of marijuana and stale beer had increased tenfold from the time Eric had seen him earlier.

Ransom and Holster laughed. “Shits, man,” Holster said as he bumped shoulders with Shitty, “Where you been? How fucked up are you?”

Shitty smiled and shimmied his shoulders, “Only a little crossfaded, you fuckers. You also fucking suck at goddamn Beer Pong. Tell me, Bitty,” he turned towards Eric, “How much do they fucking suck?”

Eric shrugged, taking another gulp of his beer—yeah, still bad.

“You guys think you’re fucking going to be Haus Beer Pong Champs with a weak fucking horseshit game like that?

Ransom slapped his hand down on the table, “Is that a fucking challenge, Shitty Knight?”

Shitty gave him a shit eating grin, “Fuck no, I don’t play beer pong without my partner.”

Holster groaned, “Breh, you can’t not play beer pong the entire time Lardo is Kenya.”

Shitty kicked the table leg, “I fucking can, and I fucking will. No one plays beer pong like Lardo.”

This was the second time Eric had heard about Lardo, and there was no time like the present to ask about the mysterious team manager, “Lardo?”

All three of them turned to stare at Eric, and then started talking over each other: “He’s never seen Lardo—” “That Beer Pong game is too good—” “Every Omega in the room gets wet when Lardo plays—”

Eric laughed, “Enough, enough. How good is Lardo’s beer pong game?”

They launched into it, and Eric was left with an image of an intimidating Alpha who had more physical prowess than Jack Zimmermann and one who could keep up with Shitty’s crossfading, and one who could out bro both Ransom and Holster. Bitty was slightly scared to meet Lardo.

 

Eric woke up the morning after the party with a headache worse than he had ever had before—it even rivaled the headaches he would get the morning after a heat. He guessed they didn’t call it being heat drunk for nothing. Bitty rolled over and groaned, every part of him ached; his limbs felt heavy, and his mouth felt like a hot summer’s day.

He needed water and he needed it immediately. Eric slowly sat up in his bed and realized he was not in his dorm room—he was on a plaid green bean bag in a room that smelled overwhelming of marijuana and beer. That really didn’t narrow done where he was, but as he took in the rest of the room, he saw a messy head of dark red flow on the lofted bed across the room. Eric breathed a sigh of relief—he was in Shitty’s room in the Haus; which was better than a random Alpha’s room.

Bitty rolled off of the beanbag onto his hands and knees, and then slowly pushed up onto his feet. He swayed slightly, so he flung his arms to keep his balance. Okay, he wasn’t going to drink that much again, Eric tried to count how many cups of beer he had but got lost after the seventh cup. As he regained his balance, he felt the pressing need to use the restroom. He had been on the second floor of the Haus very few times, but it was enough to know where the bathroom was. So it would be bathroom and then water, he could do that.

Eric slowly crept into the hallway, trying to keep his noise level to a minimum to keep his head from pounding so much. He cracked open the door to the bathroom, and it was blessedly empty and relatively clean—he didn’t even want to think about the bathroom on the first floor.

He walked pass the mirror above the sink on his way to the toilet and froze, he almost didn’t recognize himself. His shirt was rumpled and had the first three buttons undone, and his hair was ruffled from where he had been running his hands through it. Eric shook his head and continued to the toilet, he barely knew who the boy in the mirror was.

Afterwards, Eric washed his hands at the sink, his thirst forgotten it suddenly dawned on him that his Beta smell was gone. He froze, hands still soapy from the water. He smelled of Omega, stale sweaty Omega. This was bad, this was very bad. Eric let out a little whimper—he slapped his hand over his mouth, staring at his own wide-eyed reflection. He had to get out of the Haus and across campus to his dorm room, but the smell of Omega was filtering all around him. He had to act fast—he splashed water on his face to help snap him out of it. Bitty knew that this bathroom was shared by both Ransom and Holster, so there had to be some kind of pheromone blocking soap in the shower. Eric pushed open the glass shower door and scanned the shelves—there, one of them had pheromone-neutralizing body wash (Eric remembered Ransom saying that sometimes he would use it before he went out on first dates with Omegas, how it calmed them down and made them feel more in charge) and that would work.

Eric squirted a small amount on his hand, and almost recoiled from the smell of it. It may neutralize pheromones, but it smelled terrible—like overwhelming sandalwood and fruit, but he had to use it if he wanted to keep his orientation secret. At that point, though, Eric didn’t know what the point of it was anymore, he was hungover and using one of his Alpha teammates pheromone neutralizing body wash. But now wasn’t the time to admit to his team that he hadn’t told them the whole truth.

With his empty hand, Eric unbuttoned his shirt and left it hanging on his shoulders. He started the faucet again, and dipped his hand with the body wash under it, foaming it up. Eric applied it to his armpits, and then washed it out. He felt an instant relief, the smell of Omega dissipated, it lingered slightly but not enough to draw attention as he made it back to his room.

Eric buttoned is shirt back up, it was time to go. He carefully closed to door to the bathroom, and all but sprinted down the stairs and out of the Haus. There was even more red solo cups on the lawn than there was the night before, but Eric barely let himself think about it, focusing on his walk to the dorm. It was all that mattered.

He felt like he was leaving skid marks on the concrete as he bolted to his dorm; it was still earlier enough on a Saturday morning that there very few people milling around the River Quad, thankfully none of them stopped him. Eric swiped his ID through the scanner so fast he almost worried about pulling a muscle, but there was no time for that. He made the dash to the stairs and ascended to his floor, but he fumbled his keys and dropped them to the ground. Eric heard a door open down the hall from him, oh no.

“Hey, Bittle, what’s up man?”

Eric spared a glance over his shoulder at one of his floor mates—Denny something from Providence—and his key slid into the slot. “Nothing much. I’m going to grab a shower, just got back from last night.”

The guy laughed, “Good for you, man.”

Despite wanting to rip his suite door open, Eric had to appear normal; he pulled it open and slipped in. Safe at last. He didn’t have to worry about his suitemates asking questions, one of them had asked Bitty what the G on his wall stood for. Eric sent a small prayer up to heaven, glad that his didn’t fumble his keys as he opened the door to his actual room. He quickly changed out of his clothes, glad to get away from them. Bitty grabbed a change of clothes and his shower caddy, he reached out to grab his phone when he realized in his haste to escape the Haus he didn’t check to make sure he had his phone.

Eric groaned and thumped his head on the wall next to his dresser. Great. Just great. He had wanted to avoid—well avoid was a harsh term, more like not hang out with—the rest of the team, but now he definitely needed to go back to the Haus probably either right after his shower. Or maybe, he thought as his stomach rumbled, after he had something to eat.

He showered quickly, trying to get as much Omega scent off of him and Ransom’s disgusting pheromone-neutralizing body wash. Eric felt good as he slipped into his new clothes, happy to feel like himself again, the smell of sweet Omega disappearing down the drain. Bitty couldn’t help but start humming to himself as he padded from the shower to his room, despite his hangover he felt better. He slowly moved around his room, getting out some painkillers to help his headache, Eric grabbed his largest water bottle and headed to the water fountain. He still remembered Shitty’s lecture from the night before when they were setting up for the kegster: “Two things to cure a hangover, hydration and more alcohol.”

Eric didn’t think he wasn’t going to be touching alcohol for a while, so hydration it was. Eric popped the pills into his mouth and lifted his water bottle up; he was in middle of swallowing when he left out a noise of shock. His heat suppressants and birth control. He hadn’t taken them yet because he woke up at the Haus—his alarm should have gotten him up, meaning that his phone wasn’t in Shitty’s room (or if it was, it had died in the night). Eric scurried back to his room, clutching the water bottle in his hand; he needed to take his medicine. He had already cut it too close that day, and it was barely 10 am. Eric guessed that he would have to stop and grab something to eat on the way to the Haus.

 

Eric hadn’t meant to end up on the couch more than slightly tipsy and watching Golden Girls with Ransom, Holster, and Shitty. He really hadn’t. When he left his dorm he had grabbed some muffins and a cup of coffee from the little shop off one of the quads, Bitty had had their coffee before and each time it was better and better.

When he got to the Haus, he meant to find his phone and escape. Instead, he got there and found Ransom and Holster trying to clean up from the night before, but they were leaning against the walls of the hallway, not really moving but letting out soft “bro, you missed that”s to each other. And Suzanne Bittle had raised her son right, and Eric wasn’t going to let them suffer this way.

They had looked out him with large pleading eyes, and Eric had let a sigh, “Fine, I’ll help. One of y’all go find my phone, and the other one get me cleaning supplies.”

After Bitty had been returned his phone—it had died during the night—and he had cleaned up the majority of the Haus, Ransom and Holster had begged him to make a pie.

“A simple one, Bitty. Please, please, please.”

And Eric had found himself elbows deep into a blackberry pie; Ransom hovering behind him, asking simple questions about the process.

The pie had come out perfectly—that was a new skill he could add to his cooking resume, “able to bake when hungover”—and Holster grabbed it up and shoved him towards the living room and onto the couch.

Shitty had plopped down onto the couch after three episodes of Parks and Rec, one hand had what Bitty learned was called a “bowl” and the other a six-pack of beer.

“Boys, its fucking time to get crossfaded as fucking shit,” Shitty had proclaimed before handing out the beers and fishing out a lighter from the pocket of his pajama set—it was the most fully clothed Eric had ever seen him outside of full Hockey gear.

Eric had waved his hand at Shitty, “I think I’ll pass.”

Holster had just smiled and wrapped his arm around Bitty’s shoulders, “Brah, you don’t gotta get crossfaded, but you do gotta drink a beer. As reward for helping us clean.”

Eric just shrugged, it was easier.

Shitty had wrestled the remote away from Holster and turned on Golden Girls. “Holsty, I’m not getting high and drunk without listening to Blanche Devereaux bitch about her white upper-class life. I’m just fucking not, you can go back to fucking Niagara Falls and eat shit if you think I’m not.”

Holster eventually relented.

A pizza showed up after the first episode of Golden Girls, and all four of their laps covered in pizza box, pie tin, and beer bottles. Ransom, Holster, and Shitty passed back and forth the bowl—Bitty still didn’t understand why it is called that when it was shaped like a zombie arm.

Which was how Jack found them when he got back from his trip. Eric hadn’t heard the front door open, but he certainly heard Jack’s voice coming from the doorway.

“Oh, what are you boys up to,” Jack asked, his voice slightly more accented than when Eric had last seen him at practice the morning before.

“Getting high and watching Golden Girls and eating pie and drinking,” Shitty said looking over his shoulder at Jack.

Eric raised his hand, “To be fair, I’m only _drunk_.”

“We have our first game in two weeks,” Jack’s voice dripped in disapproval.

Shitty didn’t acknowledge Jack’s comment, instead posing his own, “I thought your flight didn’t get in until seven.”

“It did, its eight now,” Jack made a shuffling sound, like he was rubbing his feet on the hardwood.

Eric bolted forward, it was eight already? He had a test to study for.

“Crap, I gotta go. It was great hanging out with y’all.” Bitty stood up, shoving his phone into the pocket of his Samwell hoodie.

Shitty leaned over Holster towards Eric, “Bitty, bro, fucking stay for another episode.”

Eric shook his head, “I have to study.”

Shitty groaned and flopped back into place, “Fine, I fucking guess.”

Eric shuffled pass Jack, getting a wave of baking bread and ice. He shook his head to get rid of it clouding his head.

 

The two weeks leading up until the first game passed in a blur, the temperature dropped into the fifties—ungodly for September. His new winter clothes felt like they weren’t warm enough, but he would survive. Barely. He was also barely surviving his classes, he was averaging a C in every class. Eric needed at least a 2.7 at the end of the semester to stay on the team, but he ended a 3.2 to keep his scholarship, and he really doubted if he could do it. He had to kick it into gear.

Bitty sat at the desk in his room, it was game day and he wasn’t prepared. Physically he was, but mentally he wasn’t. He needed to get into it. Eric remembered how Katya would create playlists and blast them from the moment Eric walked into the locker room until he got on the ice for his performance, the songs had been picked to pump him up but not stress him. That would have to work.

Flipping through his iTunes, Eric realized that he had unconsciously chosen the majority of his music that way. Happily humming to himself, he put together a playlist. And another for weight lifting, another for baking, another for studying, and finally a goliath of a playlist for Haus parties. Eric checked the clock, he had to leave in fifteen minutes to get to Faber.

He changed out of his sweats into the suit his mother had bought for just this reason. It was a pretty dark blue with a few bow ties he could choose from, he grabbed the burgundy colored one and tied it. Eric didn’t bother messing with his hair, he was just going to shove a helmet on it anyways. He grabbed his bag off of the floor next to his bed, plugged his headphones in, and headed out.

After the game, Eric was still reeling from it. He got an assist. He was worth the scholarship Samwell gave him. Bitty needed to film part of his vlog now, but first he changed out of his suit and into more comfortable clothes.

He had just got done filming the portion when his phone started to blow up from the SMH group message. There was going to be a kegster that night, Eric looked down at his clothes and sighed. He was going to have to change. He promised himself that he would keep his drinking to three, four max, cups of beer.

 

Eric was glad he had kept it easy on drinking, despite the keg stand they had him do, because his Saturday had been spent headache free. His Sunday, on the other hand, was another story.

It was four am when he woke up to his phone ringing, his hands reached out, trying to find the offending object. Eric blinked blearily at his phone screen, why was Jack calling him at four am?

“y’ello?” Bitty winced at how his sleep heavy voice was dripping with accent.

“Bittle, get up. Meet me at Faber in fifteen. Bring your gear,” Jack’s voice was easy, not a drop of sleep present in his voice. Eric hated him for it. It also didn’t sound like he had gotten laid the night before like Ransom claimed.

But he didn’t want to be another disappointment to Jack, so he rolled out of bed, barely remembering to put on new deodorant and body spray, and to change the pad in his underwear. He had had enough close calls that he wasn’t going to risk it. He grabbed his bag and slipped his jacket on, and stumbled out of his room.

It was even colder at four am than Eric had ever experienced before, he gripped his duffle tighter, wishing his jacket was thicker. Bitty scurried faster across campus, desperately wanting to get to Faber, where it would be at least warmer. Eric walked into Faber, where Jack was already doing laps on the ice.

Jack skated over to where Bitty was stood frozen, bringing the smell of baking bread with him. “Go change into your pads and sweater.” He gestured his thumb over to the locker room, and then took off again on the ice.

Eric sighed and headed off into the locker room. A few minutes later Eric stepped out onto the ice, Jack skated over.

“We’re going to do a few laps, so you can warm up.” Jack pushed off and started doing laps again.

Eric shook his head and took off after him. He forgot how terrible dawn skates were, he felt almost woozy from how little sleep he had.

“It’s so early I’m going to vomit,” Bitty said as he came to stop fifteen feet away from Jack who wasn’t even the little bit winded.

“You’ve never seen a sun rise from a rink, eh?” Jack chirped, “Thought you were a figure skating champion.”

Eric shook his head, he really hated Jack sometimes. “I _am_ , and I _have_ , Captain, but Katya usually gave me fair warning before Soviet Morning Calisthenics,” Eric snapped. It wasn’t one of his finer moments, he had to admit. “Which, by they way, they used to do that in the Gulags.”

Jack shook his head. “Just stand against the boards, Bittle.” Jack gestured, “And brace yourself.”

Eric moved from his position on the ice to next to the boards.

“Ready?”

Bitty was unsure of what Jack was talking about, “Sure—” Eric looked up to Jack coming into the check him, and every cell in Bitty’s body froze.

Jack pressed into Eric, and the smell of baking bread, ice, a tinge of sour, and—most importantly—Alpha flooded Bitty’s senses. Dear god, what was happening?

Jack’s voice came in like he was talking through water, “Come on! Square up! Push off and skate through—”

Eric struggled to find his voice, and all that came out was “Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Jack immediately pulled away, and Eric slumped to the ice. He would admit to himself later that he had actually been crying.

Eric ripped his helmet off, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Geez…are you—”

But Eric cut him off, not wanting to face that question. “What in the deep-fried hell was _that_?” Eric glared at Jack.

Who in return raised his arms in a defensive gesture, “I came at you slow! And I don’t even have pads on!” Jack shook his head and then offered a hand to Eric.

“Seriously, Bittle. You can see the ice well, you got good hands, you’re a great skater—but you got this stupid mental block about getting hit. If that’s the only thing holding you back, we’re going to get you over it.”

Bitty glared at Jack still. He got that Jack was the captain of the team, and was just trying to look out for him, but Eric still felt stupid whenever Jack would talk down to him like this.

Jack sighed, “Just trust me, okay?”

Eric swallowed pass his pride, “How long are we going to do this?”

Jack skated back to center ice, “Until you stop being scared.” Jack turned around to face Eric. “But, actually, there’s a youth hockey tournament today, so we have to get out of here by seven.”

Eric put his helmet back on and skated to the boards.

Each time they started a new round, Jack would say, “Again.”

Eventually, it didn’t feel completely like the world was ending when Jack’s body collided with his. It was a start.

 

Eric stood on the curb searching for the rental car his mother had gotten from the airport, Suzanne had said it was a little blue four door. He was fishing his phone out of his jean pocket, ready to call her again, when the car pulled up.

The window rolled down and Suzanne’s small, grinning, face appeared.

“Dicky! Get in!”

Eric smiled, hiding his wince. Dicky Bittle and Eric Bittle were two different people in his head; Dicky was a small Omega who was living in his father’s shadow and Eric was a happy, strong Hockey player who could hold his own. Just his mother saying his name threw him back into the persona of Dicky, and Eric hated that.

But he slid into the car next to his mother, and she wrapped her arms around him. Eric took a deep breath, the rich smell of peaches, brown sugar, and rain surrounding him. This was what he had missed most about her, how just her smell could calm him. She pulled back, soaking in his appearance.

“I like that sweater, did you use that money daddy and I sent?” Suzanne asked, pulling away from the curb and towards to the parking lot that Eric indicated.

She parked the car and turned towards Eric, “Where are we going first?”

Eric smiled at his mother, being surrounded by lazy or surly boys all day everyday made him miss his mother’s upbeat, go get ‘em attitude.

“We’re going to go up to room, drop your stuff off, and then go around campus. You didn’t get to see Faber when you came last time.”

“Oh, goody,” Suzanne was practically vibrating with excitement, “Can I freshen up in your bathroom first?”

“Yeah, sure, mother.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr! thelittestcaptainamerica  
> I might reveal some deets!  
> Also, there has been some question on how close to the comic the fic will follow. Year one will be super close, but year two will split off more.


	4. Daddy Made a Soldier Out of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Beyonce's Daddy Lessons

Eric and his mother had dinner at one of the restaurants off campus—which he was happy about, he rarely got away from Samwell, it was great to see Boston. But Bitty had to be back for the game, so he and his mother drove to campus immediately after paying the bill.

Eric waved to his mother as she pulled away from Faber, she was off to do some browsing in the shopping district before the game, and Eric had pregame prep. He popped in his ear buds, started up his pregame playlist, and headed into Faber.

Bitty thought about how Family Weekend had been going so far, Suzanne was slightly horrified by the Haus’ appearance, but Ransom and Holster (who Eric had to refer to by their first names, because Suzanne didn’t get their nicknames, he also had to remind her not to call him Dicky in front of them because he went by Eric at Samwell) had charmed her into not being scared, and then they went to Boston. It had been going well, but Eric could still feel what was missing: Coach. Eric’s father hadn’t come; the football team had a game that weekend and he couldn’t leave. Bitty couldn’t fault him on that, though. It was what the high school paid him to do. He still missed his father.

He pushed into the locker room, ready to change out his day clothes and into his workout clothes so he could get a move on with his pregame workout. Eric couldn’t help the way his body moved to the beat of the playlist, it flowed through him, getting him mentally ready for the game.

“Bitty, what are you listening to?”

Eric pulled out one of his headphones and looked at Holster, “What?”

“What are you listening to?”

Eric smiled at Holster, “I made a playlist for pregame.”

Ransom made a grabby hand motion from behind Holster, “And you’ve not been sharing it? Bro.”

Eric laughed, and pulled his Samwell hoodie off over his head, “It’s my pregame ritual, not yours.”

Ransom and Holster frowned.

Eric pulled on his socks, and then laced his shoes. The locker room was filling with his teammates; they would head off to the weight room shortly, and then after to the Player’s lounge to hang out—or in Holster’s case, hog an entire couch and sleep. Eric started the process of loosening up his muscles, stretching them so he wouldn’t have to worry so much.

“Hey, Bitty.”

Eric pulled out his ear bud again and looked at Ransom this time, “Yeah?”

“Can you go get me some jockeys from the storage room?”

Bitty groaned, “This isn’t going to be like last time, right? Where you just pranked me?”

The first time Ransom and Holster had pulled this trick on Bitty, they had laughed at how gullible Eric was. He let slide, because he was just a frog, but this time if Ransom and Holster were pranking him, they weren’t going to get any baked goods from him.

“Fine, I’ll get them.” Eric pushed off from his stall and headed for the door.

He hated going to the storage room, it was on the other side of Faber and he had to walk all the way passed the loading docks to get it. It was creepy, and if he had his way, Bitty would never interact with that Storage room.

Eric pulled open the door to the Storage room, ready to get the retrieval mission over with. The box of jockeys was sitting on the top shelf, not where he knew it was normally on the bottom. He should have known that Ransom and Holster were tricking him! Eric grumbled, no baked goods for them—especially those cookies that he had tried out last week that they really liked. He wasn’t _not_ going to deliver his payload to them, though. Eric was going to look them in the eye and tell them that they weren’t getting baked goods. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

Eric made the trek back to the locker room; he passed by the exit to the loading docks agains. This time there was someone speaking out there, in _French_ (his extent of knowledge of that language was only from Lady Marmalade). And was that…Jack?

Bitty couldn’t help but stick his head out to check, the voice sounded stressed. And if it were Jack, Eric would see what was going on. He didn’t hate Jack anymore, but he wouldn’t call them friends just yet. Jack was just so standoffish sometimes, and then helpful at others. Bitty had trouble connecting the Jack from checking practice to the Jack who lived in the Haus; it was almost like they were two different people.

It _was_ Jack, and he was sitting on the platform for the loading dock, on the phone talking in rapid speed French—faster than Eric had ever heard him speak English—and was definitely stressed. Bitty was used to the overpowering smell of Jack (well, only as used to as a boy could get), the hints of baking bread, fresh ice, firework smoke, and the sourness. But all that was coming from Jack now was sourness, with maybe the slightest hint of smoke.

He couldn’t leave Jack like this, but at the same time it wasn’t his business.

Jack hung up the phone, dropped his head into his hands, and cursed, “Shit.”

Eric had never seen Jack like this—uncomposed and vulnerable, he had to do something. He mustered up some courage and spoke, “…are you okay?”

Jack’s head snapped up, okay this was a bad idea.

Jack turned to him, his blue eyes wide. “Bittle.”

Definitely a bad idea, “Sorry—”

“—It’s fine,” Jack cut him off, obviously wanting to end the conversation. But Eric couldn’t let this go, he didn’t want Jack think that Bitty was invading his privacy.

“I was just in the old equipment room, and I heard you outside.”

Jack frowned, “You could hear—”

Eric spoke quickly, this was going south already, “I mean, I didn’t _understand_ , but you just seemed kinda stressed, so…I just wanted to check.” Silence stretched between them. “Um.”

Eric made a quick judgmental call—he was already in this deep, might as well go farther. He walked down the steps of the exit toward where Jack was sitting on the platform, he carefully set down next to Jack, keeping far enough distant between them that Jack wouldn’t feel like Eric was intruding into his space.

Jack peered at the box of jockeys that Eric had placed on his lap, “Ransom and Holster trick you into going on a jockey run again?”

Eric blushed, he didn’t want to look stupid in front of Jack again, “What? No! Um…I need…all these.”

Jack’s voice dripped in doubt, “…whatever helps your game, man.” Jack still smelled sour, but the smoke was gone. But Eric couldn’t detect any bread smells or ice smells, so he pressed on.

“Pregame jitters?” Eric asked, he knew vaguely about Jack’s problems. He hadn’t delved farther than that wretched Wikipedia read through.

Jack shook his head, “No. Well,” he turned his head, considering, “Something like that.”

Eric opened his mouth, and once he did, he couldn’t stop talking, “Oh! Well, I always got worked up before competitions, especially when I knew my Dad was gonna be there. Every time I saw him during warm-ups, I’d flub my jumps. I can only imagine how it must be for you…” Bitty trailed off, realizing where he had just gone.

Jack didn’t speak either, but he smelled like ice now, with just a hint of bread. Only the lingering smell of sour persisted.

“Uh,” Bitty filled in, desperate to end this conversation, “But it happens to everyone!”

Jack was silent for a beat more before saying, “Thanks, Bittle.”

Eric let out a nervous laugh, “You kidding? I should be thanking you for the checking clinics!”

Jack stood up from the platform, and Eric followed suit.

“Just promise me you won’t crumple up into a ball at center ice tonight and we’re even. Now, come on. We’re going to be late for strategy.”

Jack raised his hand and fistbumpbed Eric.

Bitty let out another laugh, “A fist bump! I didn’t know you did those.”

Jack let out a tiny laugh, Eric thought it might be the first time he ever heard Jack laugh, “You gotta work for them.”

Jack turned towards the exit, and started to walk up the stair. And since Eric had already started rambling in his nervousness, he couldn’t really stop it. Jack just sighed at him.

 

Eric pushed into the locker room, the entire team behind him cheering. He still couldn’t believe it. He had shot the winning shot. His heart was racing, drumming in his ears, louder than his teammates, which he didn’t think was possible because Ransom and Holster were screaming in each ear.

Coach Hall smiled at him, “Quiet down, boys. Why don’t you all go say hello to your parents, because you’re the reason they’re here.”

Eric quickly took off his sweater and pads, ready to see his mom. _He won the game_. Eric slipped around his teammates, who were also hurriedly changing, and headed out to see his mother. Suzanne was standing in the hallway leading to the locker room—she was almost vibrating with energy.

“Mother!” Eric called.

Suzanne turned and flung herself at him, “Dicky! You did it!”

Eric laughed, looking down at his mother in his arms, “Yeah, I did. I can’t believe it.”

“Lemme take a picture, Dicky,” Suzanne pulled away from him, and dug in her pockets to find her phone.

“ _Mother_ —”

“Dicky, my baby boy only scores the game winning point for the first time once, and I’m going to get pictures of it!” Suzanne huffed in faux exasperation. Eric missed this.

Suzanne took a couple pictures, before she started gushing about the game.

“Oh, Dicky, I still can’t believe it! I was so worried at first, all those other boys were so much bigger than you, and then no one was scoring. And I was so on edge! It was so tight! And then you scored! And you should’ve seen me in the stands, _all emotional_. Someone stopped cheering to ask if I was okay! Dicky you were so great!”

Eric blushed at his mother’s compliments, “ _Thanks_. I’m just—I’m still _in shock._ ” Eric was still only in his underamour, and he knew he smelled bad and was dripping in sweat. “But I really should go shower up now.”

“Oh,” Suzanne said in shock, “Before you go, Lemme take _one more picture—_ ” Suzanne froze, her eyes trained on something behind Eric.

“Would you like one of us to take it for you?” Eric spun around, finding the owner of the accented voice. His eyes took in the man who looked like Jack but older, with brown eyes, and a smile.

Bad Bob Zimmerman spoke again, “Though, you might want Jack, he’s always been a better shot than me.”

Suzanne made an undignified noise next to Eric.

Jack was standing next to Bad Bob, his face pinched in his normal frown. “Dad, this is Eric Bittle and his mom. Bittle’s the one I told you about—the figure skater.”

Bad Bob stuck his hand out, and Bitty fumbled, “Nice to meet you, Bad B—uh. Oh. Mister Bad B—ah. Um. Mister Jack’s Dad.”

Bad Bob laughed, “Please, just call me Bob.”

Bob—as Bitty forced himself to think of him—smelled similar to Jack: like ice, a hint of firework smoke, but something sweet—like caramelized apples, maybe peaches. His voice was more accented than Jack’s, obvious that he had just come down from Canada.

Bob put his hand on Eric’s shoulder, “I gotta say—I was a bit _worried_ when I first saw you out on the ice, but I guess big surprises really do come in small packages. That was clutch shot, son.”

Bitty’s heart fluttered in his chest, “Wow! Um. Thank you, sir. I still can’t believe it happened.” Eric gestured with his hands, “And to be honest, I’m always so scared out there—I practically took the shot _with my eyes closed_.”

Bob laughed. “A good bounce is a good bounce. Though I know Jack here,” Bob patted Jack on the back, “Probably wanted to make that game winner himself, huh?”

Jack didn’t say anything, but he started to smell sour and like firework smoke.

Bob started talking to Suzanne, but Eric could only focus on Jack.

“Dad. I’m going to go shower up. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Bittle.” Jack pulled out from under his father’s arm and headed towards the locker room.

Bob put his hands in his pockets, “It was nice chatting with you, but I guess that’s my cue to go get the car. Jack and I are having dinner.”

Suzanne perked up, “It was nice meeting you, Bob!”

Bob smiled at her, “It was Suzanne, correct?”

“Yes!”

“Well, hopefully, _Suzanne_ , we can chat again.” Bob turned towards Eric, “Keep working on your game, son.”

“Thanks, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Bob waved, and then walked down the hallway towards the outside.

Bitty turned back to his mother, who was practically swooning.

“Mother?”

“I can’t believe I just met Bob Zimmermann.”

Eric laughed, “ _Mother_.”

“I’ve gotta call your Aunt Connie! She will be so jealous—”

“Mother,” Bitty exclaimed, “You can call her tomorrow morning, it’s late!”

Suzanne frowned, “I guess. Oh, I wish I had taken a picture with him.”

“Mother!”

Suzanne put her hand on Eric’s arm, “I’m only kidding. A little.”

Eric laughed again, “I’m going to go shower, wait here?”

She smiled, “Yeah, I’ll be good.”

Eric headed back to the locker room, he was telling the partial truth. He was also worried about Jack, he had seen Jack before the game and after the game he looked worse than he did earlier. He wasn’t in the locker, his stall was empty.

“Where’s Jack?” Bitty asked Holster.

“Um,” Holster said, rubbing his towel over his hair, “I think he just left.”

Eric spun on his heel, and headed back out. He hadn’t seen Jack come down the hallway when he was with Suzanne, so Eric tried the hallway that lead down towards the back of Faber. He saw Jack through the glass door, so he headed out.

“Hey, Jack! Wait, up!” Bitty called.

Jack froze from where he was walking.

Eric hurried through what he had to say, “I’m so glad I caught you. ‘Cause um. I just wanted to say again, good game. And thank—”

“Bittle.” Eric froze, startled by Jack’s voice. “It was a lucky shot.”

Jack continued walking, but all Bitty could process was the overwhelming smell of sour firework smoke.

 

Bitty had half expected Jack to quit the checking practice, but every Sunday he woke up at four am to Jack calling him. They didn’t talk about the Yale game, they only talked about how Eric could get better. Eric still thought Jack hated him, and the only counter he had that said otherwise was how he was still invited to the study sessions with all of the team.

The next few weeks swept by quickly. It was already the day before Halloween before Eric could even process it.

“Bitty, what are you going as for Halloween?” Ransom asked, leaning over his laptop.

“I have no idea yet,” Eric frowned, “I haven’t exactly had time to go shopping, what with school and hockey.”

“And baking,” Holster chirped.

“And tweeting,” Shitty joined in from down the table.

“Okay, we can stop that now,” Eric waved his hand at them.

They laughed.

“We can go by the Halloween store after we stop by the post office,” Holster offered.

Eric rubbed his chin, “Maybe. If my mom didn’t send too much.”

Ransom raised an eyebrow, “How much are you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” Bitty defended, “My mom said she was sending a care package, so.” Eric shrugged.

Ransom pointed at Bitty’s book, “Finish that chapter, and then we’ll go.”

Eric groaned, but finished the chapter. For some reason, Justin Oluransi decided he was going to dictate when and where Eric Bittle did homework, even though Justin Oluransi was notorious for only studying the night before a test, and didn’t even have any study materials out. Sometimes when Ransom got too up in Bitty’s business, Bitty would think about maybe poisoning a pie—but the pie didn’t do anything to Eric, so he wasn’t going to wreck a perfectly good pie just to get back at Ransom.

Eric closed his book, “Finished!” He smiled brilliantly at them.

“Fuck yeah,” Holster almost propelled himself from the library table, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”

The stop by the post office was eventful, Ransom and Holster chirped Bitty for wearing a winter jacket _and_ a scarf. He didn’t want to hear any complaining when it got to be over a hundred out, because he wasn’t going to listen them say that they were melting when he became a Bitty Pop over summer.

His mother had sent a care package, bigger than Ransom or Holster’s.

“What even is in there?” Holster asked, peering down from his standing spot on the post office steps.

“I kept telling my mother that it was freezing up here, so she must’ve figured out I was homesick,” Eric smiled at the box, opening it with a little difficulty.

“Yeah, Bitty,” Holster said with disapproval, “The high today was 45. It’s not freezing yet.”

Eric made a face at Holster, “Well, in Georgia, that’d be a news story.”

Ransom barked out a laugh next to Eric, he had also chosen to sit down on the steps and open his package.

Bitty ripped open the rest of the box, and glorious joy filled him.

“Oh my god!” He exclaimed, reaching further into the box, “My measuring cups. My soufflé pan! Oh dear lord, _good chocolate_! My sifter, my bowls—” Eric let a gasp.

Ransom and Holster leaned towards him, unsure of what Bitty found.

Eric reached into the box with reverence, tears filled his eyes but didn’t spill, and he brandished the object, “My rolling pin!”

“I got underwear, what’d you get?” Holster deadpanned, looking over Eric’s head at Ransom..

“Underwear and maple syrup,” Ransom answered.

But Bitty didn’t care, this was the rolling pin his Moo Maw had got him when he first starting baking. And now it was there, at Samwell. Recipes were already forming.

“Let’s stop by the Haus, right?” Holster said, already heading down the steps.

Bitty carefully put everything in the box, and bounced up to follow Ransom and Holster, he may hate schoolwork, but he was falling in love with the school. And the baking equipment would help.

Even though Ransom and Holster lived in the Haus, somehow Bitty lead them in. Humming to himself, he organized his new tools in the existing cabinet space. Ransom and Holster thundering up the stairs, loudly chirping each other and laughing.

Holster appeared in the doorway, “Ready, Bittlemas?”

Eric raised an eyebrow, “Bittlemas? Where’s Ransom?”

“Yeah, Bittlemas. I’m trying some stuff out. And Ransom is asking Johnson if he wants to come with us.”

Ransom appeared behind Holster, “Johnson said, and I quote ‘I already have a costume, the costume of life.’ Man, why can’t goalies be fucking normal.”

“Doesn’t help that he’s a philosophy major.”

Ransom shook his head, “Nope, it does not.”

They headed out of the Haus and piled into Holster’s car, and drove towards the closest Party City—which was in Boston, which was why Bitty had been putting this off.

Which he shouldn’t have, Bitty thought as he looked on in dismay. All of the aisles were empty.

“You would say, ‘slim pickin’s’, right, Bitty?” Ransom asked, putting a terrible southern accent on.

“Yes, I would say that, but not like that.” Eric grumbled.

Holster pulled out a flapper dress from the rack, “What about this?”

“First of all, I’m not wearing a dress, second of all that’s an extra large, and I’m an extra small kinda guy,” Bitty said from the down the aisle.

Holster frowned and put it back on the rack.

“What about this one?” Ransom said, appearing at the end of the aisle.

Bitty squinted at what was in his hands—it was a blow up suit for a sumo wrestler.

“No, just no.” Eric shook his head, “What are you even going as, Rans?”

Ransom did a little shimmy, “Sexy MD. I already have scrubs and everything, bro.”

Holster appeared at the other end of the aisle—when had he left the aisle?—holding another costume, “What about this?”

Eric looked at the costume in Holster’s hands, it looked like it would fit him, and not be wholly unbearable. _Wait a second..._

“Is this a child’s costume?”

Holster frowned, “Maybe.”

Eric just huffed, “Fine, but only because tomorrow is Halloween.”

“You know that Halloween is a whole weekend affair, right?”

“Wait, what?” Eric asked wide-eyed.

“Yeah, a whole weekend thing,” Ransom agreed.

Eric groaned, he was going to have to be Thor for the three days, and he didn’t even like superheroes.

 

Halloween had been a shit show. All three days. On the final day of Halloweekend (which Holster had dubbed it that when he was 5 cups deep, and it had just stuck), someone had convinced Bitty to drink Tub Juice. And he had regretted it, but the rest of the weekend went amazing. Shitty had gone as Miley Cyrus in Wrecking Ball, which he said was inspired from the night early in the semester when Bitty, Ransom, Holster, and him had gotten drunk and listened to music. Jack happened to walk in on them belting the chorus to Wrecking Ball.

Ransom had definitely gone as a Sexy MD, and every time Eric saw him, he had at least 4 omegas surrounding him. Holster had played up his height, and his costume involved him looking like a short guy wearing stilts, it was a great mind trick and he always caught someone’s eye doing it. Johnson was wearing his normal clothes, and everything stayed away from asking him too much because otherwise he would go on about how the only costumes in life were the ones that we chose to wear. Ollie had gone as Ash Ketchum, and Eric had seen him making out with a blonde girl dressed as Pikachu. Wicks had gone as a guy from Star Wars—Eric didn’t know enough about the franchise to accurately say _whom_ but he had a light saber, so it wasn’t hard to guess what he was. But Eric didn’t get the all black outfit and long hair, though.

And Jack didn’t dress up.

Eric was only sure that Jack was still in the Haus because he would see Jack in the mornings, but other than that, Jack wasn’t there.

Their first _real_ roadie was upon them the weekend after Halloween, the five-hour bus ride to Cornell was brutal, but the seven-hour trip from Madison to Samwell was worse, because at least on the bus ride he knew everyone.

It wasn’t Eric’s first roadie, they had gone to Brown and to Harvard already, but Cornell was all the way in New York. Eric had never been to New York before, and he knew they weren’t going to New York City, it was still exciting. Traveling was always exciting.

“Bitty?”

Eric looked up from his phone, “Yeah—” and froze, Jack, Shitty, Ransom, and Holster were staring at him (the last two were behind Eric, but they had bent around the seat).

Shitty spoke again, “What is this on your twitter about a vlog? Are you fucking vlogging us?”

Eric was frozen, he forced out an awkward laugh, but internally he was screaming. His vlog was personal, and he talked about things— _his orientation_ — on that vlog.

Jack’s eyes squinted, “What’s it called?”

“Umm,” he couldn’t tell them.

Holster shoved into Eric’s seat, cramming himself in with Eric. “Are you talking smack about us?”

“No!” Eric said indignantly, “It’s just—”

Holster grabbed Bitty, zipped his SMH jacket up and over his head, and put him in a headlock with one arm.

“What kind of shit do you say about yes, eh, Bits? We’re fucking sensitive you know!” Ransom said, leaning over the seat, his accent stronger.

“I’m sensitive!” Holster said, with his arm still wrapped round Bitty’s covered head.

“Yeah, ‘Eric Bittle Blog’ turns up nothing on Google,” Jack said.

Great, Jack was involved now? It was a slight turn of events, that Jack was Googling Eric.

“Just fucking gives u the URL, Bitty,” Shitty huffed.

Eric had enough, his vlog was _private_ , “No! It’s just my stupid little vlog! And I don’t even talk about you guys that much! Well…um, not all the time.” Holster’s arm tightened a little. “Uh. Well. Less than when I talk about baking. Which is admitting a whole lot.”

“We want answers!” Ransom quietly yelled from his seat.

Bitty panicked a little, “Okay, like Shitty? Once I said when you’re not at the rink or in class, you’re usually naked and stoned.”

“How many people watch it?” Jack pressed.

“Like, four hundred,” Bitty said, he was getting claustrophobic now, and the overwhelming scent of Holster was getting to be too much, the wet earth, bon fire smoke, and cotton smell of his skin flooding Eric’s mind.

“I’m actually okay with four hundred people knowing that.” Shitty said, his voice lax now.

The others hummed, in agreement and disagreement.

“Can you let me go now?” Bitty ventured.

“Oh, shit, sorry, Bitty,” Holster said, pulling his arm away from Eric and unzipping the jacket.

Eric knew that his face was flushed, and that there were tears building in his eyes.

“What else do you say?” Jack asked, there wasn’t any concern for Eric in his voice.

“Um,” Eric said, wiping a hand across his face, “How I really don’t know where Ransom and Holster ends and the other begins. And how Johnson is weird. And how you, Jack, wake me up at hours that god never intended anyone to be awake for to practice checking.”

Jack’s mouth was pinched, “That’s fine.”

Holster got out of Bitty’s seat and went back to his own. Eric sagged, his chest heavy. This was going to be a long bus ride.

 

They won the game against Cornell. Jack got a hat trick. If anyone asked, Bitty’s heart didn’t catch when he saw Jack’s celly. It really didn’t.

 

Eric groaned as he flopped down at the breakfast table, his backpack already thrown on the floor.

“What’s wrong, Bitty,” Ollie asked.

Eric groaned again into the table, hi face firmly planted next to his plate. “The baking competition.”

“The baking competition?” Holster asked, settling into the chair next to Bitty. Ransom was close behind, slipping into the other empty chair.

Bitty lifted his head up minutely, “The Baking Club—which I couldn’t join because I’m too busy with Hockey—released the date for the Annual Welly Bake Off, and it’s the same day as our tournament in Princeton.”

“That rough, Bitty,” Ollie offered.

“I was going to make a chocolate butter pecan soufflé,” Bitty groaned again, “It was going to be delicious, and I was going to _win_.”

“You can always make the soufflé,” Wicks said.

Bitty glared at him.

“Or not. That’s an option as well,” Wicks spoke fast before turning back to his hardboiled eggs.

“I haven’t been able to attend any of the Baking Club’s meetings because of practice or games.”

Shitty threw his plate down on the table, “Why do you care so much about the Baking Club? You bake all the time at the Haus. Basically your own Baking Club.”

Eric frowned, “Yeah, but like last week the meeting was about the pros and cons of using premade Puff Pastry or making it from scratch. And then they watched a bunch of episodes of Cupcake Wars.”

“I’d watch Cupcake Wars with you,” Holster offered.

“No offense, Holster,” Bitty said, turning to him, “But you would only try to get cupcakes out of me if we watched it.”

Holster gasped in faux shock, “ _I would never_.”

Eric let out a tiny laugh and sat up fully. He had a forkful of his breakfast halfway to his mouth when Jack’s voice interrupted him.

“Bittle.”

Eric looked at his captain, “Yes?”

“Is any of that protein?” Jack asked, nodding towards Eric’s plate.

It was mostly a cherry Danish with some yogurt on the side. No protein.

“…no.”

Jack gestured with his chin, “Go get some, then.”

Eric groaned again and pushed up from the table, “Okay, _mom_.”

“If Jack’s the mom, am I the dad?” Shitty asked.

They all erupted into laughter.

“That’s pretty gender normative of you, Shits,” Eric quipped over his shoulder.

The guys laughed again.

 

Eric closed the door to his room and rested his head against. His suitemates all had a mandatory out of class lecture, so he had the suite to himself. And he knew exactly what he was going to do, and he had all of the time in the world to do it.

Bitty squatted in front of his dresser rummaging around in the bottom drawer before brandishing his dildo. He grabbed a towel from the top of his closet and headed to his bed, he stopped at his desk along the way and plugged his phone to play his playlist. Eric draped the towel carefully before laying down on it fully clothed. He was going to drag this out; he deserved a bit of a break.

Eric drug his nails down his chest, briefly circling a nipple before unbuttoning his shirt; he sat up and flung it onto the floor. He laid back down and a wet a finger in his mouth. Bitty pinched a nipple with it; he let out a little gasp as it reacted to the cool temperature. He switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. He slid his other hand down his bare chest to his cloth-covered cock; Eric bit his lip as he pressed his hand against.

Bitty twisted his nipple, his back arched into it. He felt slick slip out his hole, and he groaned. Eric unbuttoned his pants and slipped his hand into his underwear and fully grabbed his cock. He needed to get naked, and he needed to get naked right that moment. Eric shoved both his underwear and pants off—he kicked them to the end of the bed.

He let out a hiss as the air touched his exposed cock, Eric rubbed his open palm up and down his cock, spreading his legs as he did so. He pulled one leg up to his chest and reached down with his hand that wasn’t wrapped around his cock to touch his entrance. It was drenched with slick; Bitty slipped one finger in and let out a deep moan. He squeezed the bottom of his cock, trying to hold on for the fun part.

Another finger slipped in to join the first, and Bitty couldn’t help but start to pump his cock. He twisted his open palm around the sensitive head before letting going to fumble through the sheets next to him, searching for dildo. His fingers hit the edge of the silicon, and Eric smiled.

He removed his fingers from his hole, hissing as he did so. But it wasn’t in vain—he slowly pressed the head of the dildo in.

“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty room as the dildo bottomed out in his ass. Eric moved his hand on his cock, sliding up and down slowly, and with his other hand slowly twisted the dial at the end of the dildo.

The vibration rocked with Eric’s body, and he pressed his head farther into the pillows. He wrapped his hand tightly around the end of the dildo, pulled it out a little bit and then pressed in with it, and then did it again. Bitty bit his lip, and started to match the thrusting of the dildo with the pumps of his hand on his cock.

Rolling over onto his knees, with his face turned on the pillow, he kept his arm behind himself, still pushing the dildo in. He jerked his cock faster, he was getting close—he needed more. Eric stilled the thrusting to push the button to inflate the knot, and starting thrusting again.

A whine left Eric’s lips as the knot started to press into him. His pumping and thrusting lost time with each other, his hips moving quickly between the knot and his hand. Bitty pressed the dildo in firmly, the knot fully in place. He pressed into it, his hand a firm pressure. Eric’s hand sped off his dick, rushing towards orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted as it crashed over him, hole tightening around the thick knot, and cum painting the towel underneath him.

He slumped on to the bed, careful not to land on the cum stained towel. Eric turned off the vibrations, but left the knot still inflated—enjoying the full feeling of it.

 

Thanksgiving break was upon them, and Eric had to agree that the way Samwell had their fall semester set up, it was the worst. There was Thanksgiving Break, which was a week long, then a week of classes, and then finals week. Finals weren’t close enough to worry about, but too close not to start panicking.

They also had a game the weekend immediately following Thanksgiving, so he couldn’t go home for it. It was the first Bittle Thanksgiving that Eric had missed since he was born, but he was making the most of it. He had a meal planned out for the team, since the majority of them couldn’t go home either.

Eric poked his head into Shitty’s room, “Hey, Shits, you want come to Stop-&-Shop with me?”

Shitty looked up from his beanbag, he was completely naked, and Eric regretted every sleeping on that beanbag. “Sure, Bitty boy, I gotta put some kind of clothes on, there’s like two feet of snow outside.”

“I know,” Eric grumbled.

The snow was fun at first, he had never seen it before, but now, it was ridiculous. Eric had on at least two layers at all times, and when he went outside it went up to four layers. Shitty appeared out of his doorway, wearing only a t-shirt, green cargo pants, ugg boots, and an earflap hat.

“I’m ready!”

Bitty just stared.

“Bruh, I’m from fucking New England, I can handle a little snow.

Eric shook his head, crazy northern boys.

Shitty led the way down the stairs, stopping to let Bitty grab his outside stuff from the kitchen.

“Are we going to the Stop-&-Shop where that guy got murdered last summer or the one that smells like dog ass?” Shitty asked, walking down the front steps of the Haus. “We might get shived at Murder Stop-&-Shop, but smelly Stop-&-Shop is literally like walking into a butt hole.”

“Wait, isn’t smelly Stop-&-Shop also Racist Stop-&-Shop?” Eric asked, double-checking that his list was in his pocket. “What is up with grocery stores in this town?”

“Murder Stop-&-Shop it is!” Shitty said gleefully.

The question had been rolling around in Bitty’s mind for a while, he knew that Shitty was a male Beta, but he was so invested in Omega and women’s rights. And he knew that Shitty was double majoring in Pol Sci and Women, Gender, Sexuality, and Orientation Studies, but he just wanted to know _why_.

“Hey, Shits. What made you want to do Women, Gender, Sexuality, and Orientation as your second major?” Bitty asked tentatively, trying not to show his hand.

Shitty shrugged, “I dunno. I’ve always been interested in gender and orientation shit, especially when it comes to Alpha bros, and sports, and masculine identity, and crap. Other than Hockey, it’s kind why I came to Samwell. The WGSOS department here is _the tits_ ,” Shitty looked off his shoulder at Bitty, “Also, I wanna write my thesis on College Hockey and how it’s both the fucking queerest and most homophobic Alpha culture on the goddamn continent.”

Bitty was stunned. He let out a soft, “Wow.”

Shitty spun all the way around, walking backwards. “Also also, my mom made me read a shit ton of Toni Morrison one summer. And that was some wild gravy.”

“Who’s Toni Morrison?” Bitty ventured, it wasn’t the first time that Shitty had referenced something that Eric didn’t know.

“She’s this really awesome Alpha writer, her books are the shit. She implements post-modern feminism in her works,” Shitty said, before whipping back around and led the way into Stop-&-Shop.

Bitty grabbed a cart from the cart return; Shitty ripped his hat off and threw it in the seat of the cart. Eric was still cold, so he didn’t unbundle, but he led the way into the store, letting Shitty push the cart

“What all do we gotta get, Bits?” Shitty asked doing a wheely on the cart.

“Stop that,” Eric said pulling out his list, “We’re getting the food for Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey, stuffing, yams, potatoes, pumpkin, green beans, pie stuff. You know, Thanksgiving food.”

Shitty sighed, “At home, we would just get take out.”

Bitty gasped, “Thanksgiving is a fundamental food holiday.”

“Whatever you say, Bits,” Shitty laughed.

Eric shook his head and continued on his way through the Stop-&-Shop, keeping Shitty close by. It was still Murder Stop-&-Shop.

The cart was mostly full when another question occurred to Eric.

“Hey, Shitty,” Eric asked, stopping to pull out the butter he needed, “You said you wanted to triple major, but Samwell wouldn’t let you. What would it have been?”

“Um, I dunno,” Shitty said leaning against the fridge lip, “Like compsci or math or something.”

“ _Ew_! Math?” Bitty said, throwing his butters into the cart. “Shitty, you’re crazy.”

“Yeah, brah, I’m not the one buying four dozen sticks of butter.”

Eric glared, “If you don’t like my cooking, you can always go and eat cold pizza at the Lacrosse house across the street for Thanksgiving.”

Shitty raised his hands in defense, “No fucking way.”

Eric huffed, “That’s what I thought.”

He threw the rest of the butter into the cart and headed towards the check out. Thanksgiving dinner was going to be great.

 

Jack and Ransom both said that Thanksgiving was stupid, but Bitty threatened to smack their stupid Canadian sides with his wooden spoon and not let them have any of the dinner if they kept it up.

“None of this is part of the meal plan,” Jack grumbled as the stuffing was passed to him. Ransom, Holster, Jack, Shitty, Eric, Johnson, Ollie, Wicks, and three other teammates (Jordie, Ryker, and Grummy) were all sitting in a circle on the floor of the living room in the Haus. The kitchen table wasn’t big enough for all of them.

“Jack, I swear to God, if you complain one more time, I’m taking all of your food away and hiding the almonds you think I don’t know about,” Bitty threatened again. It was the third time that night.

Jack frowned, he obviously thought Bitty didn’t know. Ha, he thought.

Ryker laughed, “That’s harsh, Bitty.”

Bitty smiled. He didn’t spend a lot of time around Jordie, Ryker, or Grummy but they were all very nice. Jordie—Jordan Malhorta—was taller than Jack but shorter than Holster. He was an Alpha senior and a D-men on the third line, and had warm brown skin, warm brown eyes, and wavy short black hair. Ryker—Emil Ryk—was closer to Shitty’s height. He was a Beta junior and a left-winger on the second line, and had pale skin (almost as pale as Jack), dark brown hair that was slowly growing into beautiful flow, and pale green eyes.

Grummy—Jake Inghram—was in between Shitty and Jack’s height, probably about six foot even, if Bitty had to guess. He was an Alpha center on the second line, he had white blonde hair—lighter than Holster’s—and dark blue eyes. At the beginning of the semester, he had a tan, but it had faded with the months.

“Are you frogs ready for finals?” Ryker asked, his mouth full of turkey.

Ollie answered, “I _think_ so, but who knows.”

Jordie laughed, “Same, though, bro. Every fucking semester I have no idea what I’m doing.”

The upperclassmen—sans Jack—all laughed and answered in a chorus of “Same,” and “Me, too.”

“Ah, shit. I left my beer in the kitchen,” Johnson said, frowning down at his plate.

“I’ll get it!” Wicks said, jumping up.

“No, I will!” Ollie said, following Wicks, racing him to the kitchen.

Eric shook his head, Ollie and Wicks had been doing favors for Johnson all day—in fact, all month if Eric thought hard about it. Probably trying to get Johnson to help them with homework or something, Eric shrugged it off. Not his problem.

Holster moaned around the food in his mouth, “Bitty, this is so good. What the fuck?”

Bitty laughed, “Stop trying to flatter me, I’m not going to make you that chocolate pecan pie you want. I made two pumpkin and two apple, and that’s it.”

Holster frowned, “You made that maple crust for Ransom, though.”

“Dude,” Ransom said in defense.

Eric squinted his eyes, “Yeah, because it goes with apple pie, and Ransom for it months ago, and I wanted to make it. And, I’ve made you ten of those chocolate pecan pies since I’ve met you.”

Holster stuck out his bottom lip, trying to make tears form in his eyes, but Eric was relentless.

“Not today, Holster, not today.”

Ransom rubbed Holster’s back, holding back his own laughter.

Ollie and Wicks came back into the living, Ollie was triumphantly holding Johnson’s beer and Wicks had his face scrunched up.

Every one finished their dinner and Bitty busted out the pies, intent on keeping the entrée course separate from the dessert course.

Shitty practically shoved a slice of apple pie into Jack’s hands. “Brah, its Thanksgiving. You eat turkey, drink beer, watch football, and eat pie. And fucking looks like to me you’ve only two of those. And be damned if I’m not going to try to make it be three.”

Jack frowned but took the apple pie anyways.

And let a tiny noise of satisfaction after the first bite.

Eleven pairs of eyes swiveled and stared at Jack, and Jack stared back—mouth still wrapped around his fork, eyes wide.

“Y’all, I’m going to need you to call an ambulance. Because I’m hallucinating that Jack Zimmermann is actually eating _and_ enjoying one of my pies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Shitty pronounced WGSOS like Double U Gee Sauce or WGSauce. It's great.   
> I also don't know why I keep making Bitty smack people with his wooden spoon, maybe it's something I would do.  
> Next chapter holds Finals, Closet Story, Winter Screw, and the debut of Camilla Collins.
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at thelittlestcaptainamerica.tumblr.com!


	5. All The Loving I've Been Giving Goes Unnoticed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm so sorry that there has been such a delay on this chapter. I have like half an excuse of work and summer classes, and then the other half is not worthy.  
> (also real talk, this week's updates of the comic are going to kill me.)
> 
> Title from Beyoncé's Love Drought

Eric had thought that Samwell’s Fall Semester schedule was messed up, and he was correct. Thanksgiving ended, their game went well—they won 1-0 in overtime—but suddenly it was the week before finals week, and he was fucked. If he thought that he was fucked at the start of the semester, he was wrong. Dead wrong.

The first final was Economics and was on the Monday of final week at eight a.m., then his science final—which was Dynamic Weather—was on the Tuesday at ten a.m., his Wednesday was a double final day with his Psychology final at nine a.m. and Composition at two, and then his Math final was at eight p.m. on Thursday. One of his classes didn’t have a final, but his workload was too much.

Eric frowned down at his planner; he barely had time to do anything. He had brought his grades up, miraculously, but he still had mostly B’s with one A.

“Can someone explain grade point averages to me?” Bitty asked, worrying his bottom lip.

Johnson opened his mouth, probably to spout something about how GPA’s don’t matter in life, in the universe, but Shitty talked over him.

“It’s basically how the University tracks how you’re doing. First semester is the hardest because you’re fucking starting at a goddamn zero, which is the biggest crock of bullshit. So if you mess up even a little bit, it’ll fuck you over for a while,” Shitty gestured with his hands wildly—he was getting a little manic in his studying.

Bitty scrunched his nose, “What would I have to do to get a 3.2?”

“Lemme see how many credits you’re taking,” Shitty made grabby hands at Eric’s notebook.

The notebook slid easily across the table, and Shitty started moving his pencil quickly across the page.

“Okay, Bits, you need to get—at a minimum—two A’s and four B’s. Nothing fucking less, but you could def get more.”

Eric groaned again, and dropped his head into the table.

“Yeah, BittyTitty?”

Eric rolled his head and opened eye at Holster, “One, never use that deviation, again. Ever. Two, I have one A and five B’s.”

Ransom leaned around Holster; he didn’t have any study materials out what so ever, “Which one of those B’s has the highest percentage?”

“Uh, probably Econ.”

Holster broke out in a smile, “Well, you’re in luck, Econ major right fucking here.” Holster tapped on his chest with a fist.

“Really, Holster?”

“Wait, when is your Econ final?” Holster asked, worry in his voice.

“Um, Monday at nine, why?” Bitty’s voice was equally as worried.

Holster shook his head, “No can do, Bits, sorry. I have a two finals on Monday, and my German final on Saturday.”

Bitty felt like he could cry, he had a grasp of the class, but some of the finer points got away from him.

“Is there anyone in your class you could ask?”

“There’s this one guy, Adam. I could ask him at the review session tonight.”

Holster’s gigantic hand clapped Eric on the shoulder, “You do that, Itty Bitty.”

“Nope, not that one either.”

Holster laughed, and then turned back to his work, pushing up his glasses.

Eric tried to focus on his own work, but it was hard. He _had_ to bring up his grade in Econ. Bitty had a final presentation left that could potentially boost his grade up a tiny bit, but he would have to get a near perfect on his final to get the A he needed.

“If I stare at this report any longer, my fucking eyeballs are going to dry up,” Shitty groaned, rubbing his face up and down.

“We can bounce,” Jack offered.

Shitty swung around and stared at Jack, “What fucking decade is it, Jacques? It’s 2013, not 2003. I know its not your fucking glorious early 2000’s youth filled shitting teenage days, anymore, but calm down with the old lingo.”

Jack just raised his eyebrows.

The group packed up their things and started to make the trek to the Haus, Bitty’s enthusiasm wasn’t as piqued as usual. He could stress bake, but his piecrusts usually suffered when he did that. But he couldn’t focus on his work.

“I usually don’t condone this, but who wants play Mario Kart?”

“Ooo, me, me, me,” Ransom said gleefully, jumping up and down. “Can it be Drunk Mario Kart?”

Eric frowned at Ransom, “No, I have a review session tonight. I told you that.”

“Sorry, Bits, I just love me some Mario Kart,” Ransom said again, bouncing up the deck stairs of the Haus.

Bitty turned to Holster, “What’s with Ransom?”

“He’s delaying studying.”

“But doesn’t he have a 4.0?”

“Yeah, but he argues that studying is future Ransom’s problem.” Holster shrugged.

Even though he had initiated the Mario Kart, Bitty still felt bad about enabling Ransom. Eric also felt bad about how he lost in every round.

 

Adam from Economics agreed to help Bitty study, and they planned to meet the following evening in the library. Things were looking up for Eric. After morning skate, Shitty, Jack, Ransom, Holster, and Bitty headed to team breakfast together.

“Oh, Jack,” Shitty said turning to left, “I found you a date for Winter Screw.”

Jack opened his mouth, probably in protest, but Shitty kept talking.

“Bro, come on. She’s _awesome_. She’s double majoring in History and WGSO, actually that’s how I met her. She was my partner for that Omega Rights project a couple months ago. And get this, asshead, she’s an athlete!” Shitty smiled hugely at Jack, knowing that he got him.

Jack twisted his mouth, let out a sigh, and said, “Fine, okay. I’ll go with her. You’re fault if it’s terrible.”

“It won’t be,” Shitty bumped shoulders with Jack, “She has the fucking Shitty Knight Seal Of Approval.”

“I dunno, Shits.”

Shitty stuck his tongue out.

Bitty tried not to make them notice him, because Winter Screw is where everything could go wrong.

“Speaking of,” Ransom turned to Holster, “Holsty, I got your date!”

Holster clapped his hands together, “Who? Who? Who?”

Ransom smiled mischievously, “You didn’t hear it from me, but Esther Shapiro.”

“You’re screwing me with _Esther Shapiro_!” Holster shouted, his deep voice filled with anger, “Bro!”

“What the fuck, Holster,” Ransom shouted back, turning to Holster, “You guys hooked up last weekend!”

“And you chirped me for, like, two hours afterwards, remember?” Ransom spoke indigently, and then let out a groan.

“Oh, fuck! Wasn’t she the omega with the rash shaped like Ellen DeGeneres?” Shitty chirped.

“No, I think she was the one with the eye patch,” Jack said, joining in, “Right, Holster?”

Holster groaned again, “Subject change right now!”

They all laughed, but Bitty could feel his heart racing. Hoping that they wouldn’t turn him, but his hopes were futile.

“Okay, Well,” Ransom said, searching, “What about Bitty?”

Bitty’s heart stopped, and then continued in overdrive.

“Holy Hell! Bits doesn’t have a date for Winter Screw?” Holster asked, before putting on a horrible southern accent, “My dear Ransom, we have been remiss in our duties to Samwell Hockey’s Favorite Frog.”

Ransom joined him in the terrible southern accent, “My dear Holster, so totally remiss.”

Eric felt his entire face heat up, this was bad, this was bad, this was bad.

“We know, we know,” Holster crooned, punching Bitty in the arm, “It’s Samwell tradition that your roommates pick your date for Winter Screw. But—”

“—Holster and I are _very well-acquainted_ with Samwell’s female population, Beta and Omega alike. If you know what I mean,” Ransom chuckled, “I do mean sexually.”

“We even found a date for Jack “The Pickiest Man Alive” Zimmermmann—”

“Hey, I did that!” Shitty argued.

“Okay, us and Shitty,” Holster amended.

“And we would’ve found one for Shitty,” Ransom continued, “If he wasn’t holding out for _Lardo_ —”

“Fuck you guys,” Shitty said again.

“So, come on, Bits,” Ransom and Holster turned to Eric, “What’s your type?”

They all stared at him. He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He had to leave, he had to.

Eric laughed nervously, “Oh dear! Well, wouldn’t you know it—I totally forgot that I left a pie baking. In the library,” Eric started backing away from the guys, “Well, no need to wait for me—y’all go on ahead to breakfast! Um. Bye now!”

Eric turned and bolted. His heart was hammering in chest. He had fucked up, they would all know, he was almost outed.

Bitty turned into the academic building his class was going to be in, and headed straight to the bathroom. Locking himself in the furthest stall, Eric let himself succumb to the panic. He knew that he would have to tell them all eventually, but Bitty had hoped that eventually boiled down to never, and that it wouldn’t happen. He felt bad about lying, but he couldn’t just _stop_. What would they all think? Eric had blatantly lied about being a Beta—he could get away with not telling them about being gay, but being an Omega was different.

Someone flushed in one of the adjacent stalls, and resolve settled over Eric. He had two options, the first being to take a Beta or Omega girl to Winter Screw and perpetuate the lie even further, or the second was tell someone. Bitty blanched at the idea of taking a girl to Winter Screw, it wouldn’t be fair to her, or to him. He didn’t have to closet himself that way.

But taking a Beta or Omega guy still felt like lying. Eric had to admit he had seen attractive Betas before, but he still preferred Alphas. And a male Omega would feel like the biggest lie. Eric knew he had to pick the second option, but he had to do it on his own terms.

But who?

Someone who would understand _why_ Eric had felt the need to hide his true self. Someone who would understand _why_ Eric went to such lengths. Someone who would understand _why_ Eric would do any of this.

Only one person came to mind.

Shitty.

 

Eric paced the floor of his room. He had rewritten the text at least four times.

**To: Shitty**

_Hey, can you_

_meet me in_

_front of Founder’s?_

_At, like, 4?_

Bitty hit send on the text before he could back himself out of it. He stared at the screen, hoping that Shitty would answer, but also hoping that Shitty wouldn’t. Suddenly, it dawned on Eric that Shitty could have a class at that time.

**To: Shitty**

_Unless you have_

_class at that time!!!_

**To: Shitty**

_Don’t feel_

_obligated!!!_

Eric bit his lip, maybe that was a bit too much.

His phone buzzed in his hands.

**Shitty**

_Haha, brah,_

_no worries, I’m_

_free then._

A sense of relief settled over Bitty, only to be immediately replaced by fear. He was going to do this. He was really going to do this. Everything he had carefully cultivated at Samwell was either going to be for nothing, or his quality of life was going to increase.

But what was he going to say?

Eric had no idea how he was going to say this. What if he stumbled over his words? What if he royally fucked it up?

Bitty sat on his bed, and put his head in his hands. He was way in way too far over his head. This was a speech he just wasn’t prepared for. But how could he prepare for it.

His head snapped up, an idea forming in Eric’s mind. He would prepare for it the same way he prepared for any speech: note cards, and practice.

Rifling through his drawer, some semblance of the speech was forming. But Bitty had to hit all of the key points. But what were the key points? Eric settled into his desk chair, he pulled out a sheet of paper to start outlining it.

 

_ Key Points _

_I didn’t know how to say it_

_I didn’t know how y’all would react_

_There wasn’t a good time/place to do it_

_Winter Screw_

Okay, he could work with that.

Eric stared down at the notecards. How could he get the words to come out? To make it sound like his own words?

Using his own words, obviously, but that was _so hard_. Bitty would just write it like he would talk to Shitty.

The hours passed, and suddenly it was time to go meet Shitty.

The notecards were crumpled and a little soaked with Eric’s sweat. Panic was rising in his chest, but he was determined. This was the right choice.

Even though spotting Shitty, who was already sitting on a bench in front of Founder’s, made his heart fly up into his throat. But Bitty was determined.

“Hey, Bitty,” Shitty called, with an easy smile on his face.

“Hey, Shits,” Eric said, his voice a little shaky.

Shitty was still smiling, though. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Eric took in a deep breath.

“So,” he started before deferring to his note cards, “‘I’ve been wanting to say this for a while now, but all this _hoopla_ with Winter Screw kinda brought things to a head, so to speak.’”

“Dude, you can tell me anything. No judgment,” Shitty cut in when Eric paused for breath.

But Bitty kept going, “‘But not like I wouldn’t have told you were it not for Screw! Obviously, y’all are my best friends.’” Eric suddenly lost his spot on the note card. “Um...Let’s see...”

“Wait. _Are those index cards_?” Shitty asked incredulously. 

Eric kept going though. God, he had started to ramble even in his writing.

Shitty cut through his monologue, “ _Bitty_!”

Bitty sighed, “I guess what I’m trying to say is—I’m an Omega.”

“Oh, cool, bro,” Shitty said.

“Wait, no,” Eric said, turning and facing Shitty. “More importantly. I’m gay.”

Shitty’s eyes widened, but so did his smile. “Bro!”

“Wow. That was the first time I ever said that out loud. To anyone. To myself. Those exact words.”

“Well, thanks for trusting me with the moment, man! Appreciate it.” Shitty said, soft reassurance in his voice.

“Why the _hell_ did that take the entire semester?”

Shitty shrugged, “Meh, everyone goes at their own pace, you know? No. Rush. It’s pretty scary. Especially when it’s a double like yours.”

“I was scared, you know?” Eric said, sitting on the bench next to Shitty. “I haven’t had the best experiences with sports teams and have them be anything other than…well, Alpha Bros. Before we moved towns, high school was a nightmare…I didn’t know what y’all would do.

“For fuck’s sake, did you think we were gonna beat you up or something?”

“Well,” Bitty said, stress in his voice.

“Bits!”

Eric chuckled nervously.

“Bitty, Jesus Christ. We’re your fucking teammates! Your friends! We spend so much time looking out for you, on the ice and off. Fuck, even Jack does. We have your back, man. Always. You being a gay Omega isn’t going to change that.”

“Thanks, Shitty,” Eric sighed.

Shitty laughed, “C’mon lets go get our grub on.”

The pushed off the bench and headed towards the commons.

“You know, Shitty, you’re good at this! You really just took the whole coming out thing in stride. You could be a peer counselor or something.”

“Idk, Bro,” Shitty said, using the common acronym, “I’m kinda used to it. People just come out to me _all_ the fucking time. Fuck you not—Sophomore year? Five different people came out to me in a week.”

Eric laughed, “No!”

“ _Bits_. I thought I had a goddamn sign taped to my back that said ‘Will Affirm All Sexual Identities’.”

Bitty laughed again.

“I do have a question, though,” Shitty started as he pulled open the door to the Commons.

“Shoot.”

“You don’t smell like an Omega. Like I know I got a fucking worthless Beta nose, but I know what Omegas smell like. And you? You fucking smell like a normal ass Beta.”

Eric shrugged. “I have Beta pheromone scented everything. My mom was really thorough.”

Shitty rubbed his mustache, “Oh, yeah, we read about those in one of my WGSOS classes.”

Eric swiped through the register and waited for Shitty.

“Do you think you’ll stop wearing them? Are you going to tell the others?” Shitty asked as soon as he stood next to Bitty again.

“Um,” Bitty twisted his mouth. “I definitely need to tell Ransom and Holster, I don’t want them to set me up with a girl. Like at all. And definitely not an Omega or Beta girl.”

“You’re lucky they’re not eating with us, but you need to come up with a game plan for it, though.”

Eric sighed, “I know.”

 

Meeting with Adam from Econ was a little easier than any other encounter that Eric had had with him. Maybe it was because Bitty had finally told someone at Samwell about his orientation—besides obviously the Coaches—so he didn’t have to worry so much about what would happen if Adam sniffed out that Bitty wasn’t the Beta he claimed to be.

His hands still shook a little from the left over anxiety of his speech, even three hours after the fact.

But Adam’s energy was very different than the Alphas that Bitty was used to, so it was easy. And Bitty understood the material, a least a little bit more than before.

Eric had managed to avoid Ransom and Holster for the rest of the day, but morning practice was a different story. He had bypassed them when he changed into his gear, but after practice he couldn’t really bolt out of the locker room. Mostly because he knew he was going to go to breakfast with the team

Bitty sat on the bench of stall, waiting for the locker room to clear out a little. He was in a better place with people knowing, but he didn’t want to be the one to broadcast it.

Holster and Ransom were only changed down to their underarmor, and were reeling to go.

“Looking for the perfect lady!” They said at the same time, turning around and facing Bitty. “Commence Operation: Get Bitty A Date For Winter Screw!”

It was now or never.

“Well. Um. I’ve been meaning to tell you this,” Bitty started, stumbling over his words, “But you should probably stop looking since—um. I’m gay. And an Omega.”

Ransom and Holster stared at him for a beat.

And then their faces spilt beyond wide into smiles.

“Bro-dawg. Why didn’t you tell us sooner? Like 30% of dude Alphas at Samwell are into dude Omegas,” Ransom said, grabbing Bitty’s shoulder.

“Your dating pool just increased by a bajillion,” Holster added in.

“Wait what,” Bitty said.

“Bro, bro, don’t worry about it,” Ransom said waving a hand, “I will get you a male Alpha date to Winter Screw. No worries. What’s your type?”

Bitty frowned, his face blushing, “Um…I don’t know?”

Holster made a face while Ransom continued, “Brah, what do you mean? ‘ _You don’t know_ ’? There hasn’t been an Alpha you would pop a knot—well I guess not pop a knot—but like get the hots for?”

“I would offer Tall, Dark, and Handsome, but Ransom has a date,” Holster laughed.

“Breh,” Ransom said in exasperation, “I’m just saying, Bits, I want you to get screwed, not screwed over.”

Bitty blushed, but shrugged. “I don’t know? Athletic? Maybe? I haven’t really put a lot of thought into it.”

Ransom waved a hand, “Say no more, Bitters, I will get you a hunk of an Alpha.”

Bitty just frowned, what had he gotten himself into?

 

Eric wasn’t going to lie, but stress baking may or may not be hereditary in his family, and if the baker’s dozen of mini pies on the counter were any indicator, he was still stressed. Exams, Winter Screw, the words of him being gay and an Omega spreading through the whole team. You know, normal things to be stressed out about at eight pm on a Wednesday. Normal.

Bitty blew out a breath. His hands were empty now, but they still shook a little, half with the need to bake, the other half with repressed stress.

“Hey, Holster,” Bitty called over his shoulder as he wiped off his mixer.

“Yeah, Bits?” He heard Holster’s slightly muffled voice call from the living room.

Eric started grabbing things from the cabinet, “Do you want another chocolate pecan pie?”

There was a loud crashing sound, and suddenly Holster standing two feet from Bitty.

“Yes. Please. Like right now.”

Eric laughed at Holster’s deadpan voice and face. “It’s going to be the last one for the semester.”

Holster pouted, “But, Bitty!”

Eric laughed again, “I’m putting you on a cap of fifteen personal pies a semester. That’s one a week, not even counting Thanksgiving.”

Holster groaned, “What even is the point?”

Bitty crossed his arms and raised a brow, “I could _not_ make the pie.”

Holster suddenly dropped to his knees—which only put him a few inches lower than Bitty’s eye line—and clutched at Eric’s apron, “I am so sorry, Bitty, I promise not to forsake your pies, _ever again_.”

Bitty shoved at Holster’s shoulder, “Holtz, I’m still going to make the pie.”

Holster smiled a breathtaking grin, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Eric turned back to his ingredients, ready to get elbow deep in it.

He had just gotten the pecans arranged on the pie when Ransom burst into the Kitchen, fresh from his evening lab.

“Bitty! I scored you a date for Winter Screw!”

Eric turned, eyes wide. “Really? That was fast.”

Ransom rubbed his chin. “Yeah, but like, the dude said he had been holding out for this Beta in one of his classes, but that fell through, so he would be down to take a hot little Omega like you to Screw.”

Bitty froze for a second, “You didn’t show him, like, a picture of me, did you?”

“Nah, bro.” Ransom smiled. “I just described you as this hot southern Omega guy, who if he hurt, he wouldn’t have to worry about the Hockey team defending you, because you would poison him first.”

Eric nodded, “Good.”

“Also, Bitty? He’s a swimmer.” Ransom waggled his eyebrows.

“So?”

“Bro!” Ransom looked affronted. “That means he’s built as fuck! Probably like Tom Daley levels of hot.”

Bitty could feel his eyes widen and jaw drop.

“Bits! I knew you fucking had a type! Built af, gay—or at least not straight—, and a dazzling personality. I’ll get closer to the mark next year.” Ransom smiled again, proud of himself. He settled in at the kitchen table.

Bitty was still a little dazed by the image of Tom Daley being his date. “Isn’t Tom Daley an Omega, though?”

“What?” Ransom said looking up from his phone. “Still stuck on the Tom Daley comment?” Ransom laughed at Bitty’s expression. “Brah, Tom Daley is probably, like, the hottest Omega I’ve ever seen.”

Bitty just nodded, and turned back to put the pie in the oven.

“Do you like accents?”

“What?” Eric asked over his shoulder.

“Accent? Yay or nay?” Ransom said, his eyes still glued to his phone. “I’m updating one of my Excel workbooks.”

“Umm…I guess I like them?” Bitty said, still confused.

Ransom nodded, “Okay, brah, next Winter Screw I’ll get you a date using this new data set.”

“Data set, eh?” Jack said, coming through the kitchen. His workout clothes stuck to his body, sweat dripping down his face. “You studying, Rans?”

Ransom’s phone clattered loudly to the table. “What?”

Jack started mixing a protein shake, “Studying? You know the concept?”

“Wait, what’s the date?” Ransom asked, his voice strained.

“It’s the third. Of December,” Jack said, wiping his face on his shirt, exposing his abs to the room.

Bitty definitely kept his eyes trained forward on the dishes he was washing. Definitely. One hundred percent. Not staring at Jack’s abs. Not one bit.

“Ransom?” Jack asked, taking a step forward towards Ransom, who’s face had paled.

“Don’t touch him!” Came Holster’s voice from the doorway. “He just realized he has finals. Someone get him his backpack with his notes, stat!” Holster turned back towards the living room. “You! Ollie! Get it for him!”

Ollie sputtered, but complied.

College was weird.

 

Bitty brushed any invisible lint off of his suit jacket for the third time. Finals had gone as good as they were going to.

And now the only thing that stood between him and going home for break was Winter Screw. And parts of him definitely thought he was getting screwed over in this endeavor. What if the Alpha just laughed at him?

Eric was perched on the edge of the Haus couch, waiting for his date to show up. Ransom had insisted that Bitty meet his date at the Haus, so that Ransom could catalogue how Eric responded to his date, so that Ransom could “improve.”

Jack had already left, going to go pick up his date from where ever she lived, leaving with a scent trail of after-shave, bread, and ice following him. Shitty had left for break already, claiming he had an important “stupid rich, white people thing” to attend.

Ransom and Holster’s dates had already arrived. Holster’s date of Esther Shapiro wasn’t as bad as the guys had made her out to be, but Eric didn’t know if he was the right judge of the female character. Ransom’s date was a tall, willowy Omega. She had long brown hair, and her skin was just a few shades lighter than Ransom’s. Bitty would have to be blind to not see that this girl was beautiful.

She had smiled a blinding smile at Bitty and introduced herself simply as “Athena.”

He believed it. If Eric Richard Bittle, Jr had ever met a woman who could be a reincarnation of Athena it would be this goddess who stood before him.

A knock at the door brought Bitty’s attention back to the point at hand. His date. Who was probably there. To meet him.

Ransom bounced to the front door, calling over his shoulder, “Bits, it’s your date!”

_Its now or never._

Bitty had the brief thought of running out the back door, but it was suddenly squashed when he saw his date.

His date looked at him and then at Ransom, and then started laughing.

Bitty also started laughing, his nervous sinking feeling turning into disbelieving hilarity.

Adam the Alpha turned towards Ransom, “This is the Omega you told me about?”

Holster looked like he was about to throw with Adam.

“Yeah, why?” Ransom answered, disbelief and anger prevalent in his voice.

Eric kept laughing.

“Eric, it’s great to see you again.” Adam gave him a fist bump. “Didn’t know you were an Omega, though. Probably would have tried harder if I did.”

Bitty smiled up at him. “Not something I was really projecting.”

“Wait. Wait, you guys know each other?” Holster asked.

“Ransom, Holster,” Bitty turned to their dates, not wanting to exclude them, “Athena, Esther. This is Adam, I have Econ with him. He’s the one who helped me for the final, Holster.”

Holster’s mouth opened in a little “o” shape, and he let out the accompanying sound.

“Shall we get going, boys?” Athena asked, her deep sultry voice skating gracefully around them.

Together, the group made the trek to the Gym where Winter Screw was being held. The Gym was close to Faber, so it felt so familiar to make the walk from the Haus to the Gym, Eric’s legs finding the path so easily in the dusk lighting.

Adam was a warm presence next to him, the cold night air mixed with his soft citrus scent.

The loud thumping from the bass was also familiar, but Bitty kind of wished that he taken the shot that Ransom had offered, just to dull his anxiety a little.

“There’s Jack!” Ransom said excitedly, pulling the group off towards the tables set up along the edges of the Gym.

Jack sat easily at one the tables, his black suit looked nice. And for once, there wasn’t a frown pinching his face. He looked enamored by the small blonde woman sitting next to him.

“Jack, my man!” Holster exclaimed, clapping Jack on the shoulder.

“Is this your team?” Asked his date. Her voice was a high, soft soprano that was almost sickeningly pleasant to Bitty’s ears.

He didn’t like her already. He didn’t know why. He just didn’t.

“Oh!” Jack let out, “Ransom, Holster, Bittle, this is my date Camilla. Camilla Collins.”

Camilla stood up; she was maybe five three, five four tops. Her delicate white dress flared out around her, her blonde hair was short, and curled perfectly around her face. Camilla’s honey eyes stared into Bitty’s eyes as she shook his hand in greeting.

He definitely didn’t like her.

Ransom, Holster and their dates settled in at the table, and Bitty was reluctant to make a scene, so he and Adam followed suit.

Camilla was enthusiastic about everything, Bitty felt like he practically had her entire life story.

“I’m double majoring in WGSOS and History. I met Shitty through this Omega Rights paper we wrote together this semester for our class ‘The Legalities of being a Woman or an Omega’, and that was really fun. And then when he found out I was also majoring in History he asked if I had a Winter Screw date. And here we are.” She smiled happily at them, her teeth a small pearly white perfection.

“You’re captain of the Tennis team as well, aren’t you?” Athena asked, her sultry voice a beautiful counterpart.

Camilla nodded, “Yes. It was a bit of a struggle to find a balance, but I’m really happy.”

A reporter from The Swallow came by to take their picture, and by their picture, it was probably just a picture of Jack and Camilla.

The opening notes of Beyoncé’s Partition pumped through the speakers, and Bitty’s heart stopped and started again, and he was suddenly up and pulling on Adam’s arm.

“Beyoncé is on. I gotta dance.”

Ransom and Holster laughed.

“You’re a fan of Beyoncé, Eric?” Camilla asked sweetly.

“Fan? More like a he sees her as a religious figure. He almost fought Jack in the library when the album dropped,” Ransom said, laughing.

Eric glared as Jack shrugged; he pulled Adam farther onto the dance floor. Camilla said something to Jack, and then the two followed Adam and Bitty.

Great.

 

Adam’s hand was wrapped tight around Eric’s as he guided him through the silent campus back to Eric’s dorm. Adam had insisted on it.

Bitty didn’t mind though. Ransom had put a flask in his hand at some point in the night, and he felt loose and giddy. Like he could do any thing.

“I.D.?” Adam asked softly.

Bitty patted his pockets, fishing out his card. Adam smiled as he ran it through the scanner, and then they were headed up to Eric’s room.

“I live in the other dorm, but I want to make sure you’re safe, before I go,” Adam said in front of Bitty’s door, which Eric had directed them to from some prompting.

“You still smell like Beta,” Adam whispered, running his thumb along his jaw.

“Scented bath wash.” Eric turned and opened the door to his suite.

“Would it be too forward if I kissed you good night?” Adam asked, his voice deepening.

“I wouldn’t protest if you did,” Eric said, sobering slightly.

Adam smiled, lowering his eyes to Bitty’s mouth, before pressing them gently together.

Bitty hummed into it, hands reaching up to hold onto Adam’s jacket. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it felt nice and new, nonetheless. Adam slipped a hand into Eric’s hair, pulling slightly on the strands, and Eric groaned into Adam’s mouth.

Bitty pulled back, looked up into Adam’s eyes, which had darkened. And then pulled on Adam’s jacket, forcing him into the suite, Bitty pulled his keys from the door. He placed the keys in Adam’s hand, kissed Adam on the mouth again.

“I’m in the third room.”

Adam smiled, and turned towards the doors.

Bitty shut the suite door, and then faced Adam.

“You can maybe stay the night, but I’m not guaranteeing anything,” Bitty said, his voice firm.

Adam smiled easily. “I’m not going to force anything,” he said, echoing Eric.

Bitty smiled again, and then pushed him lightly into the room.

Adam’s hands slid back into Bitty’s hair, and their mouths crashed together again. Eric made sure the door was closed, kicking back with his leg, and then he was pressed up against it. Adam moved away from his mouth, he was pressing open mouth kisses along Eric’s jaw. His mouth fit around the pulse point in the crook of Bitty’s neck, the place where his pheromones were the strongest.

Eric’s eyes rolled back in his head, his knees felt like jelly, and he let out a deep moan that echoed throughout the room.

“What was that?” Eric asked panting, when Adam pulled back to smirk at him.

Adam leaned in to whisper in Bitty’s ear, a caress of warm breath, “That’s were your bond mark would go. It’s one of the most sensitive places.”

“Oh.”

Kisses trailed from his ear back to his mouth, and Eric was being kissed again. He slid his hands up to Adam’s face, holding him there. Bitty let his tongue slip out of his mouth and brush against the Adam’s bottom lip.

Adam hummed and let Eric’s tongue in. Eric let out a small groan as their tongues touched, pushing past each other. His enter body was heating up. Bitty himself getting slicker.

And Adam also smelled it.

Adam pulled away, and panted against Bitty’s mouth. “How far have you gone before?”

“Umm…”

Adam pulled away, his dark eyes more clear than they were a moment before. “Eric…?”

Bitty swallowed, his face flushed not just from the heat of the moment. “This much?”

Adam groaned, dropping his head down onto Bitty’s shoulder. He shook himself and then pulled away. “I’m going to go.”

Bitty stepped away from the door that pressing into his back, “Adam…”

Adam just smiled, “Eric, I’m not really about deflowering Omegas. Especially ones who aren’t sober, and are only on a date with me because of Winter Screw.” Adam bent again and pressed a closed mouth kiss to Eric’s mouth. “See you around.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also here are some links for what [Camilla](http://www.modcloth.com/shop/dresses/moxie-must-have-dress-in-white), [Esther](http://www.modcloth.com/shop/dresses/fluttering-romance-dress-in-painting), and [Athena](http://www.modcloth.com/shop/dresses/vacation-vixen-dress) were wearing for Winter Screw
> 
> Follow me on tumblr/shout at me about check please/zimbits/everything at [Thelittlestcaptainamerica](Http://thelittlestcaptainamerica.tumblr.com)!  
> (yes I figured out how to hyperlink, finally.)


	6. You're Trying To Be There and To Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a LOT of research about things in Georgia for this chapter.  
> Bit of a trigger warning for a section. Mostly talk about an Alpha who couldn't take a hint. Just ctrl+f for "Trace" and skip those parts if those parts upset you. Take care of yourselves!!!
> 
> Chapter title from Beyonce's Love Drought

The moment Bitty walked out of Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, or as he called it Hartsfield, he knew he should have changed out of his sweater on the plane. But it had been below freezing when Ransom had driven Bitty to Logan International Airport, and Eric really didn’t want to be a BittyPop, so he had layered on his thick winter coat, his thickest sweater, a long sleeved T-shirt, jeans with long johns on underneath, along with his hat, scarf and mittens. Ransom had just laughed, wearing only basketball shorts, a loose Samwell tee (that might have belonged to Holster), an unzipped hoodie, and athletic sandals sans socks.

Fuck Canadians, Eric had thought bitterly.

It was a sweltering fifty-five in Atlanta, and Bitty thought terribly for a moment that he might melt. And the fact that fifty-five felt sweltering concerned Eric.

“The car is in Hourly parking, let’s go, Dicky!” Suzanne smiled happily at Eric.

He was glad to be back in Georgia. The soft rounded voices around him a welcome after spending months around the harsh Northern accent.

Suzanne tried to help Eric load his suitcase and carry-ons in the backseat of Coach’s truck, but he waved her off.

“Mother, let me drive. You know Coach would prefer you to.”

Suzanne pouted but handed the keys over to Bitty.

Eric just laughed as he threw the cushion from the driver’s seat to the back, “Why did Coach have you drive the truck anyways?”

But Suzanne wasn’t listening; she was getting ready to vault herself into the truck. Five foot two wasn’t really the optimal height for traveling in a massive truck like Coach’s, but Suzanne was a southern woman and had been jumping in and out of trucks her whole life.

The truck shook minimally when she landed on the passenger seat. “Are you getting in, Dicky?”

Eric just shook his head and pulled himself into the truck, it was easier than Suzanne’s vault, but he wasn’t built for trucks either. “I asked why you have the truck? Is there something wrong with the car?”

Suzanne hummed. “Not really, but your daddy said he didn’t want me driving it all the way to Atlanta.”

Eric just nodded, that’s what he had thought. Coach was more a man of action than words, and protecting his mate and child was always the biggest motivator for his actions. Well, that and football.

They settled into the drive, the smell of Coach was soaked into the seats and Eric felt himself relax further. Sharp cloves, warm sun, and the sweet smell of sweat mixed with Suzanne’s scent of cinnamon, icing, and old books. Bitty had read somewhere that nothing calmed a person more than the mated scent of one’s parents, and after being away from it for four months Bitty had to agree that it was true. The deep scent paired with the sweet smell put a lazy smile on his face.

 _Second only to the scent of one’s own mate_ , Bitty remembered the second half of what he had read.

Pfft. Like that was going to happen anytime soon, or ever.

“Mama, why are you being so quiet?” Eric asked, slipping a little deeper into his accent and his happiness.

Suzanne hummed again, “Your Auntie Maggie sent me pictures of your Cousin Jessica’s baby.”

“I didn’t know that Jessica had her baby.”

“I didn’t tell you? Hmm…” Suzanne trailed off.

Bitty let the quiet pass for a few more minutes, passing cars on the 285.

“Mama, what aren’t you telling me?”

Suzanne let out a shocked noise, dropping her phone in her lap. “N-nothing, Dicky!”

Eric narrowed his eyes, keeping them trained forward. “Mama, the last time you were this quiet was when Coach broke my favorite Bulldogs mug and you were trying to find a replacement.”

Suzanne huffed, but not convincingly, “Can’t I just enjoy the presence of my baby boy?”

Bitty laughed, “Yes, but, mama, in the entire eighteen years I’ve known you, the longest period of time I’ve heard you be quiet is when you watch _Gone With the Wind_ , and even then you gasp and cry.”

“Is my own son blaspheming _Gone With the Wind_?”

“No, mama, but you are avoiding the question.” Eric peeked at Suzanne, and she had a shifty look on her face.

“Can we just wait until we get home?”

Eric agreed, and settled in for the remaining silence.

 

Suzanne kept dodging the question, moving the deadline for an answer back.

Eric, her, and Coach had finished dinner, and Eric had just served an apple pie that Suzanne had baked early in the day.

Coach cleared his throat, “Junior…”

Here it was.

Coach frowned, his large ginger colored eyebrows bunching together. “Your mother and I…” He trailed off again, but turned to his mate. “Suzanne…”

Suzanne placed her hand on Coach’s arm, “I have it, Eric.” She turned to Bitty. “Dicky, your father and me have decided that it might be best if you have a heat partner next summer.”

It was like the floor had dropped out from underneath him.

Suzanne hurried on, “You know we already discussed you going off your suppressants in the summer, but we think you should say on birth control. And possibly pair you with an Alpha who isn’t in…you know.”

He felt like he did when someone was coming in for a check. He let a quiet, strangled “Why?”

Coach looked quickly at Suzanne, who in turn continued, “Dicky, baby, you know your daddy and I fell in love in high school. But we didn’t—um—we didn’t _come_ together in that way even when our cycles started synchronizing, and not until we got married. And even then we didn't give each other bond marks until our first—um—cycle match up while married.” Suzanne fumbled through it, but kept going. “And when you went to college, I started doing some reading on the Internet, it’s actually encouraged for Omegas to spend their heats with a partner at a clinic because it discourages Omega abuse and forcing a bond mark.”

Eric felt like his head was swimming. He looked to Coach for help, but he was steadfast beside Suzanne. “Mother…what… _no_.”

Suzanne frowned at him. “Just consider it.”

Maybe coming home had been a mistake.

 

Suzanne didn’t bring up the heat partner _thing_ again, but she kept giving pointed looks. It wasn’t that he was _opposed_ to the idea of a heat partner; it would definitely save his hands from developing arthritis. It was the idea of his parents knowing exactly what he was doing when they dropped him off at the clinic, and that his parents would see him when he left the clinic.

The idea of his parents knowing that he was having sex was the worst. The first time he had gone to the clinic, which was a nationwide franchise of them called H&R Planning, was his first ever heat, and he definitely did _not_ have a heat partner then, and he hadn’t had one any other time.

Eric knew that many Omegas and Alphas who were unmated chose to go to H&R Planning—Heat And Rut Planning was their full title—and had their respective Heat and Rut partners. He also knew that Omegas and Alphas worked there year round to accommodate clients. So it wasn’t like he was going to be paired with a rando Alpha in Rut, it would be a trained counselor.

Bitty decided he wasn’t going to decide anything on the issue until it was closer to his actual heat. But he did decide to go practice skating at the rink.

He drove Suzanne’s small car carefully through Madison, heading towards the Mowers Center that had been built shortly before the Bittles moved to Madison. The Morgan County Recreation Department had found the funds for it, and it was where Bitty had learned to play Hockey. He had been able to book some time on the ice, however the most he could get was two hours a week.

Eric brought both his figure skates and his hockey skates, along with pucks and his stick, wanting to run drills but also practice some of his jumps. In high school, Bitty would practice them all the time with his team watching. But at Samwell, practice was serious business, no place for Eric to practice jumps when he could be working on running tighter plays.

Eric hummed as he laced up his figure skates, he knew what he was going to practice for that, but what about hockey?

**From Eric:**

Img568.jpg

_What drills should_

_I run?_

There, the SMH group chat could figure it out for him. Eric pushed out onto the ice, he would skate a few laps, then do a few backwards cross overs, and maybe a spiral to warm up. Then it was time to try a Waltz jump. Bitty started to build his momentum and pushed off.

He landed a little wobbly. Eric frowned. Waltz jumps used to be a breeze, and now he could barely hit one? So he went again. And again. Until his phone alarm went off.

Bitty bent forward with his hands on his knees, panting slightly. It was time to switch to hockey drills.

He skated back to his stuff, ready to switch skates.

His phone was blown up with texts from SMH, though.

A lot of it was chirping and memes, but as he got closer to his initial message, actual advice happened.

**From Jack:**

_Stick Handling._

_Side-To-Side._

_Half Circles._

**From: Shitty**

_Brah, go as fast_

_as you can._

**From: Shitty**

_How big is that_

_rink? Time how_

_long you take_

_for one lap._

**From: Ransom**

_Do that!!!_

_Spongebobsmile.gif_

While Shitty’s suggestions sounded fun, Jack’s were the most practical. And since they were from Jack, Bitty was more inclined to take.

**From Eric:**

_@Jack, I’ll probs_

_do those drills._

_@Shitty, sorry :(_

**From Shitty:**

_Its cool broseph_

Bitty grabbed the pucks and his stick, ready to work on his stick handling.

 

Eric was glad to be back in Georgia. He was glad to not have to wear seventy-five layers. He was glad to be surrounded by the antebellum homes. Seeing front porches. Houses with pillars. Madison was beautiful and familiar.

Boston was beautiful was well, but seeing so many brick townhouses, old rickety houses, and houses that weren’t built to last, it wore him down.

Eric smiled to himself as he walked downtown. It had been months since Eric could just wear his hoodie and shorts.

Suzanne had sent him to pick up caramel from Antique Sweets, she had also slipped him extra money to buy Christmas list.

Bitty looked at the list he made:

_Shoes for Mother at Barkin’ Dogs_

_Garden stuff for Coach at Le Petite Jardin_

He already had his gifts for MooMaw, and his assortment of Aunts and Uncles. And by that, Eric meant that he bought MooMaw a gift at Samwell and was going to piggyback off of Suzanne and Coach’s presents.

The majority have his budget had gone to pie making, and Eric was not ashamed of that fact.

“Bittle? Eric Bittle?”

Eric looked up from his phone. Oh god.

Trace Hardin.

An older Alpha who hadn’t been able to take a hint in the sense that his threats were never vague enough, and they featured more… _colorful_ and direct language than the other Alphas who bullied Eric.

It was always like Trace had an ulterior motive to his antics.

“Oh, hi, Trace,” Bitty said, glad that his voice didn’t waver on a single syllable.

Trace stood over half a foot taller than Bitty, and was builder larger than anyone on SMH. Eric vaguely remembered that Trace had gotten a scholarship for football at University of Georgia, and that Coach had been proud of Trace’s abilities on the field, but disappointed in his activities off the field.

Trace gave him an appraising look, sweeping his eyes up and down Bitty’s body.

“Bittle…you’re looking…” Trace trailed off, giving Eric a smile that left his stomach feeling uneasy.

Eric smiled sharply, not wanting to give Trace the reaction he wanted—disgust. Trace was one of those Alphas who liked The Chase. Bitty was an Omega who was not about The Chase, so he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of Eric falling into the play. “I’m actually in the middle of running errands for Coach, so I better get going.”

Trace was suddenly a lot closer. “How long are you in town for? We should meet up some time before you leave.” Trace gave him another leer.

But Eric was determined to not give him the answers he wanted, so with another sharp smile, Bitty said, “I’m staying until the third, and then I’m headed back to school. We should meet up! I know that Coach would love to sit down and talk ball with you.”

Trace noticeably balked.

Eric barreled through the rest of his statement, “I only play hockey, and Coach only cares so much about the sport. Even though our team is doing pretty well this season. The coaches are wanting to put me on the first line, and I’m friends with all of the first line anyways. They’re all Alphas, but they have such good hearts. Also giant. I think Holster—he’s a D-Man—is over six foot four.” Bitty smiled sharply throughout.

Trace’s face had become more and more pale throughout Eric’s speech. Coach would never let Trace be alone with Bitty, especially after the way he acted during their shared years at Morgan County High School. But the thought of a group of Alphas who had accepted an Omega into their ranks, a group of large, athletic, not above fighting, Alphas who would defend an Omega.

Trace had no chance.

He took a step back. “It was good seeing you around, I might take up your offer about Coach, though. I do miss him, a little.”

And then he turned tail and not quite ran off, but it was close.

Bless his heart.

Eric continued on with his shopping.

 

“Dicky, we’re getting Chick-Fil-A for dinner, what do you want?”

Eric was sure he had never moved faster in his entire life to stand next to Suzanne. “I wan the Spicy Chicken Sandwich, waffle fries, and a sweet tea.”

Suzanne laughed, “Eager much?”

Bitty frowned, “The closest Chick-fil-a is a forty-five minute walk, at Samwell. And Shitty won’t let us eat there.”

Suzanne gave him a quizzical look, “Why? I don’t think he would be vegetarian if he was playing Hockey.”

Eric shook his head. “No, that’s not it. It’s because…you know.”

Suzanne frowned, “No, Dicky, I don’t?”

“Never mind, mama. Let’s go!”

Suzanne laughed again, and they headed out to her car.

“Oh!” Suzanne exclaimed a few minutes into their car ride, “We’re going to be going right by the Wal-Mart, do you want to stop and pick up more Beta things?”

Eric fiddled with his seat belt; he had forgotten that he hadn’t told her. “Um, mama, I told some of the guys that I’m an Omega.”

Suzanne swiveled sharply in her seat, “You did? Why? How did it go? Did any of them hurt you?”

Bitty waved his hand. “I told them because it was getting hard not to, they were trying to set up with another Omega for this dance, I just couldn’t do that.”

Suzanne hmmed in response.

“Also, it went fine. I told Shitty first—he really understood why. And then I told a couple more of the guys, and they were super nice about it. And I’m pretty sure everyone knows now, since I went to the dance with an Alpha.”

Suzanne pulled into the drive through; there were a few cars a head of them. “How was that? Your date? Was she nice?”

Eric dodged _that_ pronoun usage, “Yeah, Justin shared a class with them, and turns out I did too! They walked me back to my dorm afterwards.”

“Good! But do you not want to using the Beta products?”

They pulled up to the order screen, so Bitty waited until after Suzanne finished ordering.

“I don’t think I want to anymore, just because it still feels like I’m lying. And I know nothing bad will happen if I don’t. Coach Hall and Coach Murray already know, and most of the first line does as well. So the only time something could happen would be on the ice.”

Suzanne frowned at Eric, but they pulled up to the window, so she couldn’t say anymore until they were pulling away.

“Are you worried about that, baby?”

Bitty let a sigh. “I dealt with it in high school, and the guys already look out for me on the ice, so it won’t add that much of a difference. I can ask Coach Hall and Coach Murray what they think.”

Suzanne twisted her mouth, her hands tight on her steering wheel. “Maybe you should keep using the Beta products during games. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Eric smiled easily at his mother, glad that he had an Omega for a mother. He doubted that if she was a Beta that she would get it.

“Okay, mama.”

 

Bitty had been home for about two weeks, and the amount of time he had spent away from home was weighing on him. Eric could see the visible changes in the house from his absence. Suzanne had reorganized the kitchen cabinets, and he was instinctively always going to the wrong one looking for a plate, or his bake ware, or really anything. There were new throw blankets on the couches in the living room. Coach had started mowing the lawn in a new pattern.

Eric could feel his parents’ lives continuing on without him, and it hurt in a way Eric didn’t know that it could hurt.

Being home also made Eric remember how few friends that he actually had in Madison. The only times he left the house were to skate at the rink, to run errands, and that was it. It didn’t help either that the SMH group message would blow up with texts constantly, it made Eric miss Samwell more than anything else. He was even thinking of it as home, which alarmed him.

When Bitty thought of baking in his oven, it wasn’t in Ruby—the oven at his parents’ house—it was Betsy. The Haus’ oven. That’s what he called her at least.

He didn’t fit the way he used to fit. It was like Bitty used to be the perfectly shaped puzzle piece that fit in nicely, but now his edges were a little too big to fit in quite right without forcing it.

Eric settled in on the white wicker love seat on his front porch, a cup of hot chocolate balanced between his hands, and a crotched blanket thrown around his shoulders. Coach had finally repainted the railing around their wrap around porch and replaced some of the floorboards as well.

The Madison house wasn’t his childhood home, the one in Suwanee was. It had taken him a while to associate the white house with its wrap around porch as home, and not the brick house two story cookie cutter house. It had taken Eric two years to stop thinking of his mascot as the Hull Lions, which fed into the Peachtree Ridge Lions, and to think of himself as a Morgan County Bulldog. But after four months at Samwell, Eric thought of himself as a Wellie.

In fact, his entire existence at Samwell was leagues better than his existence in Madison. In Suwanee, he had slipped easily through the cracks. Redistricting and feeder schools meant that many times his friends wouldn’t transfer from one school to the next. But at MCHS, almost everyone knew each other from Kindergarten.

Eric frowned at his mug; he wondered what having a friend for that long would feel like. Someone who knew the ins and outs of his personality, someone who had stuck by him through thick and thin, someone who he could call in his times of need.

The only person he could think of was Suzanne. Bitty took a sip from his mug, he loved his mother dearly, but was she the only one?

Bitty briefly thought of the Beta girl he had gone to prom with both his Senior and Junior year, they had been in the Hockey club together. Eric had known that Grace desperately wanted to go to Prom, but didn’t want to third wheel any of her friends, so he had offered.

When Coach and Suzanne had asked about it, he just said he was helping a friend out.

But was Grace really a friend?

Eric couldn’t think of a single instance where they had hung out outside of Hockey and Prom.

Had Suzanne truly been his only friend?

Eric sipped his hot chocolate as he racked his brain. Surely not, he definitely talked to people at school. But Bitty’s after school life seemed to have only consisted of Hockey, baking, and YouTube.

But that’s what he did at Samwell as well. But at Samwell, Eric was hardly ever alone. Someone from SMH was in the Haus’ kitchen with him when he baked, a warm steady presence. He went to the team breakfasts; he went to their study sessions. Eric and Holster had spent an entire evening comparing and contrasting their favorite YouTubers, and seeing what each other’s guilty pleasures were.

Eric couldn’t remember doing that in Madison.

Bitty stared in shock at now empty mug. He had spent four years in Madison and hadn’t made a true, solid friend.

And a Samwell he had bunches of friends.

His phone started to buzz from the SMH group chat, and Eric sighed and picked up.

A smile flitted on his face.

They weren’t just his team. They were his friends.

 

Christmas Eve approached faster than Eric could believe. His presents for his family were wrapped neatly and under the Christmas tree.

Uncle Mark, Aunt Karen, and MooMaw were coming over for dinner, and then they were going to open presents. His cousins, Belle, May, and Bo had come as well. Belle was just a year younger than Eric, a senior in high school. May was in eighth grade, and Bo was in fifth.

Eric was still taller than his cousins, but he had no doubt that Bo would grow to be as tall as Coach and Uncle Mark, and be an Alpha just like them. Belle and May were Beta and Omega respectively.

Eric wouldn’t say he was desperate to see his MooMaw, but he wouldn’t say he wasn’t ecstatic. He hadn’t been able to see her because MooMaw had a busy life, she volunteered at the local library, and was on the board at the Baptist church.

He decided it was better to not dwell on the fact that MooMaw had a better social life than Eric did.

Suzanne was running around the house, last minute cleaning everything. To say that there was a rivalry between her and Aunt Karen would be an understatement. The two had been exchanging barbs back and forth since Uncle Mark and her had gotten engaged. It wasn’t that Suzanne didn’t approve of her brother-in-law’s wife; it was more of that there had been bad blood between Suzanne and Karen from the moment Karen made a snide remark about Suzanne’s wedges.

And from there, every detail was a passive aggressive battle between the two women. It had gotten a little aggressive as of late, and Eric knew it mostly had to do with himself.

Aunt Karen hadn’t _approved_ , to say the least, that as an Omega, Eric was going to college out of state. And that his parents were letting him.

Suzanne was half a wine cooler away from telling Karen where to her put opinion before Coach and Uncle Mark stepped in.

“Dicky, did you empty the garbage can in the upstairs guest bathroom?” Suzanne asked, well more demanded.

Eric looked up from his phone, “Um, you only told me to empty the in the downstairs bathroom.”

Suzanne frowned, “No, I clearly remember telling you to empty both. And to clean the tub. Did you clean the tub?”

Eric shook his head.

Suzanne took in a deep, sharp, angry breath. “Dicky. Please clean up the upstairs guest bathroom.”

“I don’t think Aunt—”

“You never know where that woman will look!” With that Suzanne spun around and marched off, her yellow kitchen gloved hands wrapped around a Swiffer.

Eric suddenly had déjà vu of the first time he had cleaned the Haus kitchen. God, Bitty hoped that he hadn’t been that intense, but he probably had been.

Bitty rose slowly from the couch, careful to not disturb the pillows that were arranged on it, and then wiped out any creases that could be left on the cushions. He then headed up the stairs towards the aforementioned bathroom.

After an hour of following Suzanne around the house, and her pointing at things for him to clean, it was as close as satisfactory as it was going to be. Suzanne may or may not had to have been talked down from hand washing the wind chimes on the front porch.

But it was finally time for the rest of the Bittles to arrive at their home; Coach reappeared in his armchair in the living room. He had been suspiciously absent during Suzanne’s master clean of the house—after being married to her for over twenty years, Eric guessed that his dad was beyond used to her need to clean to impress.

Suzanne had just perched herself on the coach when the doorbell rang, and then she was up, springing to the front door faster than what was humanly possible.

Suzanne barely had to door open before MooMaw came barreling in. “Where’s my Dicky?”

Eric pushed himself off of the couch. “MooMaw!” He exclaimed before being enveloped in a bear hug from her.

MooMaw was almost as tall as Coach and Uncle Mark, and an Alpha just like them. She doted unconditionally on her eldest grandchild, and had been known to go head to head over him being an Omega.

“Oh, Dicky! Let me look at you!” MooMaw pushed back to fully take in Bitty’s appearance.

“Hmm…I think you’ve grown half an inch. Also put on some muscle as well, are they being good to you at that school? Your daddy never knows, I’m always asking about you! But then when I call your mama, she knows everything!” MooMaw laughed, her deep alto voice beyond comforting to Bitty. “Y’all gonna come in?” She asked, turning towards Uncle Mark’s family, who were still stood in the doorway of the house.

Belle was the one to break off from the group first. “Hey, Dicky. How you been?”

Eric smiled tentatively at his cousin. They had never been close, and when Bitty had moved to Madison, they didn’t grow closer. She was still at Morgan County Middle School, when Bitty had started at MCHS. Their age difference, and his newness to the school district didn’t inspire friendliness between the two.

“Hey, Belle.”

She smiled back, just as awkwardly, before turning and giving her family pointed looks.

 

If Eric had thought that Belle had given an olive branch in her greeting, he was wrong. Aunt Karen and Suzanne had been trading barbs all evening, passive aggressively sharing cooking ingredients, and pointed looks.

MooMaw paid them no mind, and Eric was trying as well. But it was hard to ignore.

“Oh, you’re a store brand maple syrup and not an imported one for the glaze, Suzanne?”

“Yes, but at least I bought the oysters this year, and I got them from the market in Atlanta, and they’re not coming from a can. Eric got such a stomach last year, good thing Dicky didn’t eat them!”

“Well, the ham was a bit dry last year, and Bo wouldn’t eat any of it—and he loves ham.”

“Hopefully you remembered the bacon for the gratin, Lord knows we won’t be able to find any if you didn’t!”

MooMaw was a steady presence next to him at the kitchen table, mixing pie fillings and pounding out dough for the piecrusts. They were making two chocolate pecan pies, and two pumpkin pies. It would be easy work for the two of them. Eric could tell that MooMaw’s movements were slowing down, because once upon a time she could have whipped out all four pies in half an hour, but they were hitting the twenty-minute mark, and they had just finished prepping the second pie.

MooMaw spoke quietly to Eric, “ _Are_ they treating you good up there? I know that you wouldn’t tell your mama or daddy even if they weren’t.”

Eric nodded, not looking up from his dough. “They are. My team is really nice. I told them that I’m an Omega, and no one said anything mean. I feel like I’m making friends for life.”

She smiled warmly at that. “Well, good. I don’t have to go challenge a bunch of young hotheaded Alphas. I may be upwards of 70, but you’re my favorite grandson. Don’t tell Bo I said that.”

Bitty let out a peal of laughter, his cousins didn’t have to guess who MooMaw preferred.

Soon, Aunt Karen and Suzanne were plating the courses, and they moved into the dining room. The dining room in the house was rarely used, Suzanne and Coach preferring the table in the kitchen. But for larger dinner parties like the ones that occurred at Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving, it was used.

MooMaw took her place at the head of the table, the matriarch of her family. Uncle Mark and Coach sat on either side of her, and their families wrapping around the table. The chair opposite MooMaw was left empty, in memory of PaPaw.

Bitty had vague memories of PaPaw. His brown eyes, that Bitty and Coach had, that crinkled around the edges when he smiled. His ginger colored hair that was flaked with silver. And if Eric thought hard enough, he couldn’t grasp a strand of PaPaw’s whisper soft voice, and the soft scent of caramel and menopausal Omega.

But PaPaw had been gone for many years; passing the year that Bitty turned eight. It had been the only time that Eric had seen Coach cry.

Aunt Karen and Suzanne didn’t stop parrying their jabs throughout dinner. And it was getting on Bitty’s last nerve, he was originally steadfast on ignoring them—like he did every year—until Aunt Karen went too far.

“So, Dicky, have you found an Alpha yet?”

Eric almost dropped his fork. “Um. No, Aunt Karen. I’m really focused on Hockey and school work. I really don’t have time to be dating.”

She pursed her lips. “Really? Are you just going to become a spinster then?”

“I’ll have you know, Karen, that Dicky went to a school dance with an Alpha before he came home,” Suzanne shot quickly, leaning over her plate, fork clenched tight in her hand.

Aunt Karen gave a pointed look. “You know what they say, why buy the cow when you’re getting the milk for free.”

Bitty saw death and fire in his mother’s eyes like he hand never seen before. But Uncle Mark intervened.

“Karen,” he said sharply.

Aunt Karen just ran her tongue along her bottom teeth, keeping her mouth closed. But didn’t apologize.

The rest of dinner passed in silence, only the scraping of silverware against the plates. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's not canon that the Bittles lived in Sunawee before moving back to Madison, but I chose Sunawee because it's closer to Atlanta than Madison. Hull Middle School and Peachtree Ridge High School are two real high schools in Sunawee Georgia, and if Bitty lived where I placed his home in real life Sunawee, he would have gone to Hull which feeds into Peachtree Ridge. They also share a mascot.  
> The Bittle Home in Madison is based off a real life house in Madison that I found on Google Earth, and the the Bittle Home in Sunawee is also based off a real life house/neighborhood that I found on Google Earth.  
> If you're from Georgia, and I got anything wrong, please please please tell me! I'm from Illinois, and besides flying to Florida once, the farthest south I've been is Missouri.  
> Follow me on tumblr! [TheLittlestCaptainAmerica](http://thelittlestcaptainamerica.tumblr.com)  
> Also it would be really cool if you could reblog the post on my blog about this fic! More exposure for the fic!!


	7. I Am Not Broken, I'm Not Crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait! I'm currently working three part time jobs, and summer has started to wind down for me and that pre school stress is starting to kick in. 
> 
> Also, when I saw that NSFWZimbits over on tumblr rec'ed this fic, I almost died. So hello if you came from that rec!  
> Chapter title is from Beyonce's Don't Hurt Yourself

After the almost disastrous dinner came present opening. Eric had a couple presents from Uncle Mark and his family, and a couple from MooMaw. His presents from his parents he would open on the actual day of Christmas.

Bo started opening his presents first from Coach, Suzanne, and Eric, and from MooMaw. He opened his present from MooMaw first—it was an Xbox One, and then from Eric’s little family trio, Bo opened a brand new copy of GTA V. Bo clutched the game system’s box tightly to his chest.

“Mom, Dad, can we go home _right now_?”

Uncle Mark just chuckled, and waved to his youngest daughter, signaling her to go next.

May opened her present from her Uncle’s family, a box set of John Green’s works. MooMaw’s gift was a new camera. May looked in awe at the camera before opening it and looking at the manual.

“Thanks, MooMaw,” May said, her voice full of expression.

Belle delicately opened her presents next. Her gifts, which Suzanne had obviously picked out, included new makeup brushes and Nars eye shadows. Belle smiled brilliantly at Suzanne and MooMaw. “Thank you, Aunt Suzanne and MooMaw.”

Next was Bitty, who eyed his stack of presents. He suddenly felt bad about piggybacking onto Coach and Suzanne’s presents to his cousins, because he had a present from May and Belle, one from Bo, and one from Uncle Mark and Aunt Karen.

Eric opened May and Belle’s present first, and inside there was hockey stick and puck shaped cake tins, and small decorative hockey stick sugar decals. Eric smiled at his cousins.

“Thanks, ladies!”

Bitty moved on to Bo’s present next, he unwrapped it to see a cookie jar that was decorated in hockey equipment. Eric realized that there was probably a theme in all of his presents.

“Thank you, Bo.”

Bo smiled, but his eyes were still trained on his new game system. So Eric didn’t know if the smile was in response to Bitty, or he was still enthused about his new Xbox and game.

Eric took in a breath, and then opened his Aunt and Uncle’s present. The two never really knew what to get him for presents—always overly masculine presents, or things he wasn’t interested in (basketballs, footballs, baseball equipment, etc.). This year, his entire extended family did in fact follow a theme, because when he opened his final present from them, it was a three pack of high quality Hockey Wax, two rolls of stick tape, and two packages of foot tape.

“Thanks, y’all.”

Uncle Mark spoke gruffly, “Thought since you’re playing in college now, you would like some new supplies. I know that as a college student, money can be pretty tight.”

Bitty wasn’t exactly touched, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Next came his presents from MooMaw. First was a flour sifter, and then flour and sugar jars.

“Your mother mentioned that you didn’t have a lot of your own baking things at school, so I got you a couple. Now open your last one,” MooMaw waved her hand impatiently.

Bitty laughed at his grandmother, but listened. He opened the final present and paused.

“Is this—?”

“Yes, I thought since you’re grown now, you need your own recipe book so your pups can have something of you.” MooMaw smiled, her face taking on the age that she truly had.

Eric had to take deep to stop from crying, the recipe book in his hands was blank, every page was lined, room for all of his recipes. _His Recipes_. But the part that hit him the most was that the title on the front cover of the cookbook was written in the calligraphy he knew was his Grandmother’s was the words _Bitty’s Bakes_.

“Your mother said that’s what your friends at school called you? Did I get the spelling correct?”

Eric just nodded, not trusting his voice.

Lastly, the adults all opened their solitary presents. And the night passed easily.

 

New Year’s was a tradition in the Bittle Household, they would watch the ball drop in the televised countdown from Times Square, and starting when he was ten, they would light sparklers.

Suzanne had excitedly dumped a few packages of sparklers on the kitchen table and pulled out champagne. She had let Bitty have a glass last year, and she was probably going to let him have another for their celebration.

“Oh, Dicky! I’m so excited for New Year’s Eve, tommorrow! I have sparklers, and champagne, and your daddy is making chili.” Finally taking a breath, Suzanne collapsed into the kitchen chair, but not messily. She looked at Eric with wide, happy eyes, “It’s going to be so fun!”

Eric laughed at his mother, he knew she was being over the top because he was leaving in a few days time, and then he wouldn’t see her until Spring Break. She was planning on coming to Boston and staying in a hotel, depending on whether the team got kicked out of the ECAC tournament would decide if Eric could spend the break with his mother in Boston. Otherwise, he would be in New York. Suzanne did have a contingency plan in store, where she would buy a plane ticket from Boston to Lake Placid and hopefully get a hotel room.

Eric hoped that he would see his mother.

“Also,” Suzanne said, brandishing a bag of what looked like sucker sticks, “I thought we could try our hand at cake pops!”

Bitty clapped his hands together! “Mama! I’ve been meaning to try those out and make a video about it.”

Suzanne hopped up out of her chair. “Well, Dicky, no time like the present!”

They ended up making a dozen chocolate cake pops with white icing and gold sprinkles and a dozen vanilla cake pops with black icing and gold sprinkles. Bitty filed away a mental note to test how they faired using fondant and marzipan so that his video could have more detail to it.

Suzanne decided to let them rest until the next day, seeing how it was still December 30th, not even New Year’s Eve.

Coach was holed up in his study, still grading final exams. There was only the rest of the week left for MCHS’s winter break, and while Coach hadn’t been slacking on his responsibilities, he had been enjoying simple family time.

Bitty had been home for over three weeks, it felt both like a lifetime and a blink of an eye. It was Monday, and he was leaving Friday. Eric felt like he had barely spent any time with his parents, but he also felt like he was drowning in their presence. His heart was torn between wanting to stay in Madison and going back to Samwell. But time always passed, and he would be back to Samwell in a few short days.

 

New Year’s Eve went well, they lit sparklers, ate the cake pops and Coach’s chili, and watched the ball drop.

At one point in the kitchen, Coach put a beer in Eric’s hand with a knowing look, and Bitty stumbled out a “Thank you, sir.”

Coach had nodded and continued into the living room.

It was suddenly Friday, and Suzanne and Coach were driving him to Atlanta for his flight back into Boston. It was surreal, sitting in the backseat of the cab in Coach’s truck. His mother in the passenger seat, chattering along; his father driving, nodding along quietly to Suzanne’s pseudo monologue.

He was really leaving.

It punched him harder in the gut than when he left the first time, Suzanne had gone with him then, and it was easier to wave goodbye to your mom as she got into a car than it was to wave goodbye to your parents as you boarded a plane by yourself.

Bitty pulled up the group message on his phone.

 

**From Eric:**

_On my way to_

_Atlanta! I’ll be_

_back up North_

_w/ y’all in no time!_

**From Ransom:**

_How long will it take?_

Eric’s phone pinged again.

 

**From Ransom:**

_This is Holster btw_

_Ransypoo is driving._

_[img6008.jpg]_

Bitty opened the attachment to see a zoomed in side view picture of Ransom’s face, pinched in anger and concentration.

 

**From Eric:**

_I lucked out and_

_got a connecting_

_flight, so about_

_3-ish hours?_

**From Ransom:**

_‘Swawesome dude_

_We still got about 6_

_hours left of the_

_Ranster Roadie_

**From Jack:**

_Ranster?_

_Also, Bittle, am_

_I still picking_

_you up from_

_Logan Int.?_

**From Ransom:**

_Yeah, bro, it’s_

_our friendship name_

_[dealwithit.gif]_

**From Eric:**

_Yes! Thank you,_

_I’ll text you_

_when I board_

_so you know when_

_to leave._

“Dicky, who is messaging you so much?” His mother’s voice broke through to Bitty; he looked up and met her eyes sheepishly.

“Uh, the guys on the team. Just discussing when everyone is getting in.”

Suzanne nodded, she had twisted in her seat to look at him. “Oh, when are they all getting in?”

“Jack got in yesterday—he’s the one picking me up. I think Johnson, Ryker, Jordie, and Grummy are getting in tomorrow. Ollie and Wicks don’t plan on coming until Sunday. Ransom and Holster are in the middle of their road trip back—so probably tonight.” Eric felt like he forgot someone. “Oh! Shitty’s mom lives in Cambridge, so he’s been back forth between there and the Haus all break.”

“Dicky, language.”

Eric meet Coach’s eyes in the rear view mirror, he had forgotten that Coach didn’t like when Bitty cursed.

“Sorry, sir, it’s his nickname, so I always forget.”

Suzanne hummed in the front seat. “You could call him Crappy?”

Eric let out a small laugh at that, but let the topic drop as his mother moved on to another topic. He reopened the group message.

 

**From Johnson:**

_It should be holsom_

_and not ranster._

_people like that_

_better._

**From Holster:**

_What people???_

_also, I’m back to_

_my phone bc_

_Rans told me to_

_stop using his._

**From Johnson:**

_The fans use holsom_

**From Holster:**

_???????????_

 

Eric quickly typed out his message.

 

**From Eric:**

_@Shitty, bc my_

_parents don’t_

_like me swearing,_

_you’re now known_

_to them as Crappy._

**From Shitty:**

_Hah!_

After that, Eric locked his phone and put it in his pocket. He had a maximum of forty-five minutes left with both of his parents until May, and he was going to savor every last second of it before he left until Summer.

 

Bitty slid easily into the passenger seat of Jack’s car, it was a black four door sedan—and everything about it screamed practical, just like Jack.

When Eric had turned his phone off of airplane mode, there had been simple private message text from Jack.

 

**From Jack:**

_I’m at American’s_

_Baggage claim._

Jack had stood out a little from the crowd; a couple people had looked like they recognized him, but couldn’t place how.

Bitty had just smiled and said, “Thanks for getting me, Jack.”

And Jack had just shrugged, “No problem, Bittle, it’s cheaper than a taxi.”

Eric had chuckled at that.

Jack had quickly commandeered both of Bitty’s suitcases and looked like he might try to take Eric’s carryon as well, but Bitty kept a firm hold on it until they got to the car and he had tossed it into the back seat.

He had to admit that it definitely helped because Eric had completely forgotten _how_ cold it was. Bitty could see his every breath, the snow covering the ground was a gray mushy color, but the snow that was on top of the cars was a solid couple of inches. He was very close to becoming a Bitty Pop. And sitting in Jack’s car, even without the heat on, made a difference from the direct exposure to the freezing cold air.

Jack shut the trunk before climbing into the driver’s seat, turning the ignition and hot air blasted out of the vents.

“Did you train every week you were home?” Jack asked.

Eric smiled, he wished he was dedicated to the sport as Jack was.

“Yeah, I could only get two hours a week. But I worked on stick handling and on speed. Mostly because that’s all I could fit in.” Bitty looked up Jack’s face just in time to see Jack roll his eyes.

“What?” Eric demanded, turning in his seat.

“Bittle, I doubt _you_ need to work on speed. Trying to smoke us all, eh?”

Eric made a dismissive face, “I’m not _that_ fast.”

“I don’t know, Bittle, Coach Hall said that you’re damn fast. And so did my dad.” Jack had both of his hands on the steering wheel, but gave a small shrug regardless.

“Really?” Eric asked, but moved on quickly, not wanting to make Jack dwell. “I still need to work on my checking, I didn’t necessarily have anyone to work on that with back home.”

Jack just nodded, “We could start checking clinics back up on Sunday.”

Bitty groaned, but knew that it was for the best. “Yeah, okay. But I swear Jack Zimmermann, if you wake me up any earlier than four thirty on Sunday, I might be inclined to poison your protein shakes.”

“I’ll just put them on a higher shelf.”

“Do _not_ chirp me right now, mister!”

The rest of the ride back to Samwell passed uneventfully, Jack had turned the radio onto an oldies station, which Eric could deal with, but Jack didn’t know any lyrics at all. Couldn’t name a single artist, band, song, anything.

He couldn’t even tell Bitty the difference between The Scorpions and The Who. Eric didn’t listen to anything outside of the pop and hip-hop genre, but still he knew the difference.

Jack parked his car in the meter lot by Bitty’s dorm, and got out to unload his things.

“Jack, you don’t have to help. I’m an adult!” Eric said, his hands sitting defensively on his hips.

Jack raised a singular eyebrow, “Bittle, it’s negative one out and your building doesn’t have an elevator—I’m carrying at least one of your suitcases.”

Eric could feel a tick forming in his face, but he wasn’t going to yell at Jack. He _wasn’t_. Bitty grabbed the larger of the two cases and turned towards the building, “I know it’s not negative one out, unless you’re still measuring temperature in Celsius.”

Okay. Maybe he was going to yell at Jack.

Because as soon as they were in Bitty’s room, Eric whipped around.

“Just because I’m an Omega that doesn’t mean that I’m helpless, ya hear?” Eric clenched his jaw, one hand pointing at Jack.

Who looked confused. “What? I wasn’t—wait, you’re an Omega?”

Bitty blinked at Jack.

“You…you didn’t know?” Jack shook his head. “But I went to Winter Screw with a guy. An Alpha. An Alpha Guy.” Jack still looked confused. “You really didn’t know?”

“No. I was just trying to be nice.”

“Oh. Um.” Eric felt awkward. He started waving his hands at Jack. “Well, forget I said anything! Thanks for picking me up! Really, thanks a million! I’ll see you later, Ransom said he wanted a cobbler when he got home, so I’ll probably be at the Haus making that!”

Eric all but pushed Jack out of his room.

God, he was such an idiot.

Jack was just being nice. Not being all…Alpha on him.

Bitty raked a hand down his face, why did he have to be like this? Why couldn’t he be normal for once?

Eric turned towards his suitcases, well if he couldn’t be normal, he would be the damn best at being _him._

 

“Bits!”

Eric looked up just in time to see Holster running full speed at him, a loud crash from the hallway indicated that his stuff had just hit the floor.

“Adam Birkholtz, I have raw dough in my hands! If you touch me I won’t make you a pie!”

Holster stopped dead barely a foot from Bitty.

“But, Bits! I missed you!” Holster frowned.

Ransom came in as well, thankfully at a normal speed. “I missed you, too, Bitty!”

Ransom cocked his head, nose scrunched up. “Bitty, are you making something with peaches?”

“Or cinnamon?” Holster asked, his face pinched in concentration.

“No?” Bitty said in confusion, setting his dough back onto the flour covered counter, “I made an apple cobbler, which _burned_ , and now I’m making a chocolate pecan pie.”

“No, the kitchen definitely smells like peaches and cinnamon…” Holster trailed off exchanging a sly look with Ransom.

“What? What are y’all up to?”

Ransom’s face broke out into a grin, “Bits, are you not wearing those Beta pheromones anymore?”

Eric twisted his apron in his hands. “Yeah, I decided to stop. There wasn’t really a point to it anymore. Y’all know that I’m an Omega.”

Holster smiled again, clapping his hand onto Bitty’s shoulder. “Bro, it’s fine. You just smell like a fucking pie.”

“Like, naturally, dude. What the fuck.”

Bitty just shrugged, “I guess my mother smells like cinnamon, and scents can be hereditary.”

Ransom stroked his chin, “I guess, but like _bro_ , you smell sweet. Not like grossly sweet, like good sweet.”

“Well to me, you both smell like wet rocks. And Holster, you also smell like bonfire smoke and cotton. And Ransom, you smell almost like cinnamon, but spicier.”

Ransom blinked, “Ehuru.”

“What?”

“Bless you, dude.”

Bitty and Holster had spoken at the same time.

Ransom rolled his eyes, “Ehuru. That’s what that is. It’s a spice that my granny cooks with. She always said I smelled like it.”

“Bro, that’s cool,” Holster said, before picking Ransom up in a bear hug.

Eric rolled his eyes at the two, and turned back to his dough. He had a pie crust to finish. He heard more than saw Ransom and Holster carry their wrestling out of the kitchen.

But he didn’t hear Jack come into the kitchen, because when Eric turned around, he saw Jack sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop.

“I need to study, and Ransom and Holster are wrestling directly above my room.”

Eric just shrugged, “Fair enough.”

A simple quiet stretched between them in the kitchen, the only sounds being the clicking of Jack’s keyboard and Bitty beating the pie mixture together.

“Are you making that chocolate pecan pie that Holster likes?” Jack said, but he pronounced pecan like puh-cahn.

Which was maybe a pet peeve of Bitty’s.

“Yes, I’m making a chocolate _pecan_ pie,” he said, pronouncing it pee-can

“Is there a right way to say it? Pecan.”

Eric grit his teeth, “No, _pecan_.”

Jack shot back with his pronunciation and Bitty responding with his back and forth until he shouted, “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Whoa, whoa. What the fuck’s going on in here?”

Eric turned to see Shitty in the door way.

Jack spoke before Bitty could. “Something about pecans.”

“Its _about_. And it’s _pecans_ ,” Bitty said, angrily gesturing with his whisk.

Shitty came fully into the kitchen, he approached carefully, but clasped a hand on both Jack and Bitty’s shoulders. “Guys, guys, chill—how ‘bout you’re both right.”

Bitty raised an eyebrow at Jack before turning towards his pie crust. “All I know is that I’m making a _pecan_ pie.”

Eric could feel Jack’s eye roll even with his back turned.

“Anyways, Bits, how you been? Sounding extra southern.”

Bitty looked over his shoulder to see Shitty sitting on top of the table.

“Good. I’m glad to be back, hate this cold, though.”

Shitty nodded, “I can see that. It’s so fucking cold out, feel like my balls are gonna fall off.”

Jack shook his head, “This is nothing. It was between negative eight and six the entire time I was home, and I was practicing on our outdoor rink.”

Shitty raised an eyebrow, “Fuck, really? It didn’t get that cold here.” Shitty nodded towards Bitty. “That’s like fifteen to twenty in Fahrenheit, b-t-dubs, Bitty.”

Eric could feel himself pale at that. “It only got down to forty in Georgia.”

Shitty laughed. “I still don’t know why a fucking southerner like you is doing up in here fucking yankville.”

Bitty slid the pie into the oven, sending up a silent prayer that Betsy wouldn’t burn it. “Scholarship.”

Shitty nodded with an understanding expression, “Sounds about right. Granted I know fuck all about scholarships.”

Eric suddenly realized that almost everyone he knew at Samwell had their parents footing the bill for their tuition. He had some loans taken out for what his scholarship didn’t cover, but his parents were paying for his housing and his books and equipment. And that wasn’t cheap.

Holster suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Wait, did you say earlier that you making a chocolate pecan pie?”

Bitty pointed at Holster, “He can say it right!”

Jack looked at Holster, who just shrugged. “Bro, I’m not going to argue with him if he gives me food. I’m not stupid.”

“But, yes, I’m making a chocolate pecan pie, just for you.”

Holster fist pumped and let out a shout of happiness.

Well, at least Eric wasn’t the only one on the team who wasn’t normal.

 

Eric walked back into the Haus on Saturday morning, intent on making a full lunch for all the members of SMH who were back. He was thinking maybe making a large pot pie, and then apple turnovers for dessert.

He hoped Betsy was working better; she had burnt the cobbler and undercooked the pie in places.

Bitty started muttering apologies to her, hoping that maybe she would indulge him and work correctly.

“’Sup, you seen shits ‘round?”

Bitty looked up to the kitchen doorway, where a short girl was standing. She had not weather appropriate clothes, short spiky hair, and was definitely an Alpha. The sharp scent of mint mixed with the warmness of lumber wafted off of her.

“Oh my goodness—!” Eric started, embarrassed to be caught talking to the appliances. “Um, no, I haven’t seen him, oh should I text him? Do you have his number?”

The girl just shrugged. “Nope. Said he would be ‘round the Haus today. Plus, dude,” She said, gesturing towards Betsy. “That oven? Sucks, right? I told Jack you guys should scrap it and let me use it in a sculpture.”

Eric opened his mouth, ready to sass back that _Betsy worked perfectly fine, thank you_. But he was cut off by Shitty screaming.

“ _Lardo_!”

Shitty appeared as a blur, tackling the girl in question.

Bitty walked to the hallway, where Shitty was giving her a playful noogie, and bantering with her.

“Oh hey, Lardo, you’re back!” Jack said, coming through the front door.

This was…Lardo?

When Bitty had imagined the team manager, he had imagined a tall male Alpha, one capable of being more of a bro than any other member of Samwell Men’s Hockey. And instead Lardo was a short alternative style Asian girl.

Lardo weaseled out of Shitty’s arms and bounded over to Jack, who enveloped her in a hug. Eric didn’t think he ever saw Jack hug anyone off of the ice.

“How was Kenya?”

“Zimmerman! Pretty kickass. You didn’t let the team fall apart without me, did you?”

“Never.” Jack looked up and spotted Eric. “Oh, I see you already met Bittle, eh?”

Lardo looked at Bitty again. “Actually, dude, no.” She pulled herself out of Jack’s arms. “Hey, name’s Lardo.” She stuck out her hand in greeting. “Team manager. Kinda keep the boys running. You gotta be Bittle. Shitty totally skyped about your pies.”

Bitty smiled bashfully. “Well, goodness gracious. It’s a pleasure to meet you! But for some reason I thought you’d be—”

“A six-foot tall white Alpha dude?” Lardo cut in. “Chyeah, It’s probably ‘cause of all the dumb stories the boys tell.”

Eric suddenly had a flashback of one of those dumb stories.

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“No prob.” She turned towards Shitty, pulling a small Ziploc bag out of her jacket pocket. “Yo, Shits. We gonna bake or what?”

Shitty’s face broke out in a grin. “Fuck yeah, Lards. Reading room is covered in snow, so we’ll go up to my room.”

“Hey, Shitty, Lardo,” Bitty said, catching their attention. “I’m making a big lunch for everyone who’s here.”

Shitty was still grinning, “And look at that, Lards, Bitty is fucking making lunch. Perfect for those horsecock munchies.”

Lardo laughed. “Fuck yeah, I get to try the infamous Bitty food.”

And then they headed down the hallway to the stairs.

“Wow, she’s something.”

Jack gave a smile, “Yeah, Lardo is cool.”

“You said you were making lunch?” Jack offered, “Need any help?”

“Um, not really. Thanks for offering, though. I’m trying out a new recipe, and there only needs to be one person confused in this kitchen.”

“I think Ransom and Holster have been confused at the same time in there, so.” Jack made a what-ya-gonna-do gesture.

Eric rolled his eyes. Crossing his arms, he said, “Okay, Captain.”

Jack shook his head and headed towards the stairs.

Bitty sighed and turned towards his ingredients, ready to start cooking.

Eric had cooked the chicken, baked his puff pastry, and was heading towards cooking his veggies in the skillet when Lardo flopped into the kitchen.

“So, Bitty, right?”

“Yeah.”

She smiled easily; her face didn’t look like Shitty’s or any of the guys’ after they smoked. Lardo didn’t look tired, she looked rejuvenated. “So, Bitty, you’re an Omega?”

Bitty didn’t look up from the skillet. “Um, yeah.”

He peeked slightly to see Lardo nodding.

“Yeah, I guess being a guy Omega is like being a girl Alpha. Nobody takes you seriously.”

Eric nodded. “My MooMaw is an Alpha, and she never let any treat me like I was different. They still did, though.”

“That’s the crux, isn’t it? You don’t want to be different, but everyone thinks you are. And it’s absolute bullshit.”

Nodding again, Bitty poured the flour and chicken broth into the skillet to make his filling. “Everyone here has been nice, but when I go home…”

“Not everyone is nice. Because they see you as your orientation and not as a person.”

Eric looked up and met Lardo’s eyes. “Yeah.”

She broke out into a grin, “Well, that makes two of us.”

 

“Again.”

“Jack, stop! I can’t! I just—can’t.” Eric had let out a shaky breath.

Jack had clenched his jaw, and Bitty had been overcome by a wave of firework smoke.

“No, Bittle. If you can’t get over this stupid checking thing, then what’s the point?”

“The point of playing Hockey!”

Jack’s words came rushing back to Eric as he stared at Jack’s glaring face.

He should be excited but he seemed to have tunnel vision.

Eric had thought that he and Jack had gotten better. That Jack had gotten over the fact that Bitty had scored the winning point against Yale. He had thought…but Jack’s face said that he hadn’t.

Which meant that all the times that Jack had been nice to him in the past week had been Jack forcing it. Jack wasn’t actually his friend. Jack didn’t actually like him.

And now Bitty had to play on a line with Jack. On the first line. Something he hadn’t done since high school. And apparently Quinnipiac had a fucking _goon_.

Today was definitely shaping up to be an anti-Eric Bittle day. Classes had just started up, and one of his professors got angry that Bitty was part of the Hockey team and would be on roadies, and thus out of class. And then this.

“Five minutes,” Coach Hall said before turning to go his office before puck drop.

Lardo thumped Bitty on the back. “Fuck yeah, Bits, first line.”

Eric smiled shakily, even though just moments before he had been so confident.

Lardo narrowed her eyes suddenly, “You smell weird. Are you wearing like a pheromone thing?”

Bitty wiggled his fingers in his gloves, he wish he had something to hold onto better. “Um, yeah. I didn’t want to cause a distraction on the ice. I know that having an Omega on the ice could cause problems.”

Lardo sighed and rubbed Eric’s shoulder. “Before next game, come talk to me and Coach Murray. ‘Kay?”

Bitty nodded.

“’Swawesome. Now get the fuck out there!”

 

The games went as well as they could. Losing here and there, as sparsely as that was, tying up once. But mostly winning. Bitty stayed on the first line, and his talk with Coach Murray and Lardo went well.

“Bittle, when you applied, we knew you were an Omega. We’re not going to force you to wear pheromones if you don’t want to.”

Bitty had just nodded. “I just want to cause unnecessary problems on the ice. I know that Alphas get more aggressive if an Omega is involved.”

Coach Murray had just given him a look, “Listen, son. If they want to drop gloves over you being an Omega, they’ll get their time in the box.”

It had made things a little easier, knowing that his coaches had his back. But it was still scary. He slowly implemented less and less Beta pheromones, until while on a roadie he ran out. Bitty’s uninhibited Omega scent drifting out on the ice.

He had seen a couple of more aggressive Alpha assholes take notice, but Ransom and Holster had his back.

And that was nice.

Jack still seemed to hate him, though, so that wasn’t nice.

Coach Murray addressed the team after practice one morning. “Next week we have a group of boys we scouted, if a couple of you could come and meet them, that would be great. Tell Lardo if you’re available.”

Lardo stood up and rattled off the date and time.

A plan was already forming in Bitty’s mind, though.

“Hey, Lardo,” Bitty said approaching her, “I have an idea.”

“Shoot, Bits.”

“What if I gave them a tour? I know someone from admissions would usually be in charge of that. But I feel like it would feel more personable if someone from the team did it.”

Lardo nodded, thoughtful. “Sounds good, but you would have to convince Coach Murray.”

“Will you help me?”

Lardo grinned, “Of course.”

Coach Murray didn’t need much convincing, though. But he put a firm foot down on the goodie bag idea, according to NCAA standards, they weren’t allowed to give prospects certain things.

But he did give Bitty a list, that happened to include Samwell Swag—which Coach Murray had already acquired—and food. Which Eric could do.

Eric suddenly thought of the hockey stick sugar decals his cousins had given him. He hadn’t had anything to use them with, but this seemed like the perfect timing.

The day before the tour came, and Bitty was cooking up a storm in the Haus kitchen. Lardo was a diligent assistant beside him, icing the sugar cookies that Eric had taken out of the oven earlier in the day.

Eric finished the latticework on his final mini apple pie. Wiping his forehead, he looked up to see Lardo move on to the sugar decals, and a thought occurred to him.

“What if we make a little puck on it? With red icing?”

“I like your thinking, Bits. Do we have red icing, is the real question, though.”

Eric carefully picked up the tin of pies, sliding them slowly into the oven. “There should be some in my baking cabinet, it’s the one over there,” Eric said nodding towards the oven.

“Bits, you really did a number on this kitchen. This is without a doubt the cleanest room in the Haus.” Lardo looked thoughtful for a moment, “Except for maybe Jack’s room.”

Bitty turned his egg timer on, “The pies are in, so we’re ahead of schedule. I’ll whip up that red icing now.”

Eric pulled out the red food dye, mixing it in with the left over white icing. It was exhilarating to know that he was going to be talking to prospective students. If his schedule allowed for it, Bitty would want to be a tour guide for admissions. But his classes, hockey, and baking took up all of his time.

Oh, well. Tomorrow would be the best day for the tadpole hopefuls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had initially wanted to show the Tadpoles in this chapter, but I felt like I couldn't cut them short. So next chapter, for sure, you will be seeing baby Dex, Chowder, and Nursey.  
> Follow me on tumblr at [TheLittlestCaptainAmerica](http://thelittlestcaptainamerica.tumblr.com)
> 
> Also, I'm a slut for recs, so if you see this fic on any rec lists, please tell me! It makes me happy, and inspires me to write more!


	8. So Many People I Know That They Just Trying To Touch You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha....so I'm still alive. I'll post in the end notes more about the reason behind the delay for an update.  
> If you didn't know already, there's a sequel/future fic/one shot for this!
> 
> Chapter title from All Night by Beyoncé

Guiding the prospective frogs around campus wasn't that hard, or trying. Despite being hockey players, they mostly kept quiet, asking a handful of questions here and there. Well, all them except for the one whose nametag read “Christopher Chow,” he seemed to bounce with endless energy.

He had the mellow scent of artificial Beta all over him, something that Bitty could detect so easily after months of dousing himself in it. This maybe frog was definitely an Omega.

Well, actually. It wasn't so maybe, the frog part, not the Omega part.

“My parents went here for grad school, and it was always like a dream to come here, and it's even better than I remembered!” Christopher enthused, “Granted I was three last time I was here, but I'm so excited for the next four years!”

“Oh, you already registered?”

Christopher nodded quickly, “Yeah! Being back at Faber almost convinced me, but then when I saw how nice everyone on the team was, I did it on my phone!”

Eric was surprised, to say the least. But, hey, if this frog wanted to be a frog this badly, Bitty wasn't one to stop him, especially when he looked so happy.

“Hey, so what is the English department here like? Like, obvi I've looked into it. But from a student perspective.”

Eric looked at the tour member; his nametag read “Derek Nurse.”

“Well, Derek. I, personally, haven't taken any English courses here. But I think I have a pamphlet for them!” Bitty rifled through his bag before brandishing it to the group. “Here it is!”

Derek nodded, a soft smile on his face. “Thanks, brah.”

Eric caught the face of another one of the boys—a William Poindexter—and he was rolling his eyes. 

“Well, we know why Christopher wants to go here, but what about y'all?”

Derek nodded his head. “Andover was cool, and all, a bit stuffy though. My moms wanted me to go Ivy League was well, and Harvard is so cliché, y'know? And Samwell has a good Hockey team.”

“You went to  _Andover_?” William said incredulously.

“Ch'yeah. My Alpha mom really wanted me to go, and my Omega mom agreed after she looked at their curriculum and where alumni tended to go to university. It was really the best option.”

William scoffed again. “It must be nice to be able to afford prep school. _And_  Ivy League.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply, and Bitty cut in. He didn't need wrestling frogs while on this tour.

“Well, William, why did you decide to consider Samwell?”

William made a face, “They offered me a scholarship, and I wasn't going to say no to free money.”

Eric smiled brightly, “I'm here on scholarship as well!”

William gave Bitty a look, as if appraising him—but in a rude way. “Also, because who wouldn't want a chance to play with the Jack Zimmermann?”

“Oh.” Eric quickly turned to the other boys in the group. “Who else?”

The tour continued on, but Bitty had a tight knot in his gut.

 

The rest of the tour had gone as well as Bitty could have hoped for, some of them were excited about Samwell, others were apathetic, and then some were settled. He wondered which out of the pack, besides the one who had already registered, would come to Samwell.

As March approached, Eric could feel the stress of class and Hockey wear on him. Playoffs would start—if they qualified—around the same week his midterms were due to start. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that his classes had taken a back seat to hockey, and, well, baking. But Bitty was determined to keep his GPA at the minimum of the 3.2 that he needed, because without it, his progress on the team would be for nothing.

Eric stretched in his desk chair, he had decided recently to actually start using his desk and not have it just be a surface to put his crap on. His books spilled out in front of him—Bitty was still mostly taking Gen Eds, but one of the perks of second semester is that he actually got to choose what courses he wanted to take, unlike for the first semester, when his adviser had picked them. Bitty had picked out classes that both filled Gen Ed requirements, but also sounded interesting. He was taking an American Family course, an Anthropology course, and an Experiencing Music course—those where the three he had been the most excited for when he signed up, and the ones he was enjoying the most—the other two courses Bitty was taking were Speech, which he eyed the workbook with disdain, and then Geology. Lovingly nicknamed Rocks 4 Jocks. 

Being a chatterbox was one thing, but having to perfectly formulate speeches and follow a specific outline was tedious; to say that Eric wasn't a fan of speeches was an understatement. Geology was also proving to be a chore, not that it was hard—it was definitely going to be an easy A—but it was absolutely boring. He could barely stay awake for it, and all of the course material was available online, so sometimes it was hard to convince himself to even _go_.

There was also the daunting deadline of choosing a major. If he could, he would be majoring in Food Sciences or Baking or something to that extent, but unfortunately Samwell didn't offer any majors of that sort. There were definitely courses of that variety, but he still needed to choose an actual major he could work with.

So, in that vein, what tabs that Bitty didn't have pulled up for his classwork on his laptop, he had pulled up on a multiple different majors. The most promising of the bunch were American Studies and Anthropology. While both had their merits, Americans studies had the best-looking course material. And, it definitely didn't have as intense science courses, which Eric wasn't that partial to.

Bitty sighed and stretched. Classes had been kicking his ass. 

His phone had been blowing up constantly while he had been trying to study, so he had turned it off. But Eric felt like he had deserved a fifteen-minute break.

The phone had barely lit back up before the texts began pouring in.

Bitty skimmed through it, hoping to find a distraction, but nothing popped out to him.

Eric groaned and dropped the phone.

Well, if his teammates couldn’t offer a worthwhile distraction from his homework, Bitty could think of one solid way.

Pushing away from the desk, Eric was already shimmying out of his pants and his door was already locked to prevent anyone from unexpectedly showing up during his study time. He had moved his dildo from the bottom of his dresser to one of the boxes on the shelves above his bed, he wouldn’t say for easier access, but that would probably be an apt description. Eric could fill his hole already slicking up, and his cock was already getting hard just from the thought of the impending orgasm.

But it would have to be a rush job; he really needed to get to back to studying.

Eric stroked his cock, bringing it to full hardness. He then pressed the head of the dildo against his hole, turning the vibrations on to help ease it in. Eric let out a deep moan and turned the vibrations higher, no need to play around. He jerked his cock with one hand and worked the dildo in and out with the other.

It only took a few minutes before Eric was pressing the button to inflate the knot, and then he was spilling over his hand, a moan trapped in his throat, and his hole clenched tightly just below the knot.

Eric whimpered quietly, the aftershocks running through him. He reached down to press the button again to deflate the knot and to turn off the vibrations.

He felt de-stressed, so an orgasm had definitely been what he had needed.

Bitty pulled the dildo out slowly, another whimper escaping his mouth. He tossed it carelessly on the bedspread next to him; Bitty would deal with it later. His pulse was still loud in his ears, and his breath was slowing down.

Eric let out another groan—this one of stress, and not out of pleasure—he still had to study for the rest of his midterms.

He cleaned himself—and the dildo—off, dressed, and sat back down at his desk.

And took one peek at his phone. He was human, okay!

 

**From Shitty:**

_Welp, Lards is gonna_

_be out of commission_

_the rest of this week,_

_boys._

**From Ransom:**

_Why?????_

**From Ransom:**

_O SHIT. Her rut_

_is this week?????_

**From Shitty:**

_Yeah, it came early._

_She’s pissed, to say_

_the least._

Bitty dropped his phone. He had been living in a faux blissful world where heats and ruts didn’t happen, but the reminder that Lardo—an Alpha—was going into rut was the harsh reminder that they _did_ happen.

And that he was going to have one over summer, and that there was going to be a _heat partner_ involved.

Bitty groaned again.

 

Eric took a deep breath before getting into position on the ice. It was half way through the second, and Samwell was up by 2. UPenn has been their biggest rivals the season before, and Bitty feel the excitement rolling off his teammates.   
But he could also sense the anger coming from the opposing team.   
Bitty focused in on the face off happening between the two centers—Jack and UPenn's. But his eyes caught onto something different. The winger on the far left was staring intently at Eric.   
His eyes had the all too familiar sharp glint to them, and Eric wasn’t sure that smile was just for the thrill of competition.   
When Bitty's eyes snapped back towards the face off, but the puck had already dropped.   
"Pay attention, Bittle," Jack shouted, an invisible cloud of firework smoke accompanying his words.   
Eric tried to shake it off, focus on the game—but the winger was suddenly closer than before, and they were closer to the boards.   
And his smile wasn't friendly, it was the sneer that Bitty had connected to _Alpha_.  
And suddenly it became clear. _Alpha Alpha Alpha_.  
"What did you do, little Omega, fuck your way onto the team?"  
Eric didn't know if he should retort or brace himself for impact, because the Alpha was definitely going to slam him into the boards—when suddenly the Alpha was pulled back, shock evident in his eyes, and Holster's fist was connected with the Alpha straight in the face.   
The refs were all over them in a minute, separating the two. Eric had never seen Holster so angry, and in the distance he could see Jack holding Ransom back.   
The Alpha gave Bitty another sneer before heading off to his team's bench. Holster was making his way to the penalty box, but stopped to shout something to Coach Murray, whose face became steely and was suddenly shouting at the ref.   
This was his fault. Eric's. If he had just worn his stupid pheromone blockers this wouldn't have happened.

Bity spent the rest of the game in an almost daze, which caused Jack to shout at him more, which was never fun. And finally he was put on the bench for the rest of the game.

They won, in the end, but he still felt like utter shit.

Coach Murray stopped him on his out of the locker room.

“Bittle, a word?”

Eric gripped the strap of his hockey bag, he just wanted to go back to his dorm room and collapse onto his bed and maybe cry.

“Yes, sir.”

Murray led the way back to his office.

“What happened tonight on the ice, it won’t happen again.”

This was it. Bitty was getting kicked off the team.

It was over.

He couldn’t afford Samwell.

It would be back home to Georgia.

No degree.

Nothing.

Eric focused back in on what Coach Murray was saying.

“…you’re not the only Omega in the NCAA, and you’re not going to be treated like an anomaly. What Dickerson did on the ice was unacceptable, and if Carmack lets him on the ice anytime soon, I will be shocked.”

Bitty shook his head, confused. “Wait, I’m not being kicked off the team?”

Murray furrowed his brow. “No, of course not, son. You didn’t do anything wrong. Some knothead goon on the ice isn’t your fault. Our response would be the same if someone threw a fit about Oluransi’s skin color, obviously different connotations. But, discrimination is discrimination, and Samwell won’t tolerate it.”

Eric’s head was still swimming, “Oh.”

“Now, head home, Bittle. You look dead on your feet.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eric half walked, half stumbled out of the coach’s office. Holster was coming out of the locker.

He just smiled and waved.

“Got your back, Bitty.”

 

The games after The Incident, as Bitty started to refer to it as, were better. He didn’t wear his Beta Pheromones, and if there were alpha Goons on the other teams, they didn’t turn into Knotheads.

And Eric was playing the best hockey he had ever played before. He could see what Coach Hall and Murray had seen in him when they put Bitty on Jack’s line.

The way him and Jack played together, it was almost unreal. He had never felt so connected with another person—on the ice or off.

Midterms came, and Eric didn’t die, but he did feel a little like he would. Each midterm he took was paired with zero night’s sleep, an extra large coffee from Annie’s, and physical tiredness from Hockey practice.

Whose bright idea was it for Midterms to happen as the same time as qualifying for Playoffs?

Luckily, Jack’s camaraderie continued off the ice. So that was one less worry for Bitty.

Eric had worried that Holster’s interference on the ice, despite his reassurance that it was fine, would change how the rest of the guys interacted. But nonesuch thing occurred.

The night after The Incident, Bitty had returned to the Haus to try his hand at bread making. It was a process that was very hands on, with enough proofing and baking time to give Bitty some time to (maybe) get some studying in.

Ransom and Holster had collapsed in the chairs around the kitchen table, drawn in by the smell of baking bread—and maybe the obvious Beyoncé spilling through the speakers on Bitty’s phone.

Eric had tensed up noticeably, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But Holster just squinted his eyes.

“Bits, bro. Are you still on edge about that knothead from yesterday?”

Eric had shrugged. “Not really. Nothing I’m not used to from Georgia.”

Ransom’s eyes had widened. “Wait, are you upset that Holster fought him?”

Bitty had sputtered, notecards spilling from his hands.

Holster had laughed. “Bitty, man. I would have done the same shit if that asshole had said that Shitty’s mustache was ugly, and used that as grounds to fucking shove him the boards for no reason. Guy was an asshole. He needed a good wallop in the face.”

Ransom had nodded along, “Yeah, brah.”

And that had settled it.

They had just won the first round playoffs, sending them off to the second round, and the team was out celebrating it at a sports bar around the corner from the Haus.

Everyone was in good spirits. Bitty was squished between Jack and Shitty.

“I’m feeling Mexican tonight, so we’re all getting that!” Holster had proclaimed when they left Faber, where he had basically burst through the doors.

Eric had ordered a simple nacho and a Sprite. He still annoyed that he couldn’t just say he wanted a Coke and have the waitress know to bring out a Sprite.

Bitty looked at Jack’s drink in surprise while they all toasted to Jack’s scoring point—it was a beer.

“You’re drinking? Ransom and Holster said that you never did.”

Jack just laughed, that awkward—yet endearing—little ha ha. “They said that? Well, not often. Definitely not at parties.”

Bitty nodded, Haus parties got crazy.

Ransom started shouting, pointing towards the TV. “Boys, we’re on TV!”

But as they watched, the mood turned sour. The words that poured out of one of anchor’s mouth twisted the atmosphere. Everyone got very tense.

Bitty could smell only that sour twang coming from Jack. Replacing the easy smell of baking bread and ice that had been floating around them. Replacing the ease that they had been feeling.

“Someone turn that shit off,” Shitty’s voice rang out.

But it was too late.

Jack was pushing up and off from the table. Leaving everything behind.

“…Jack. That guy’s just some idiot analysis. They’re _wrong_.” The words slipped off of Bity’s tongue, but it didn’t matter.

Jack walked away fast, his fist clenched, and his back tense.

No one followed him, and it felt wrong somehow. Like someone should be with Jack while he dealt with whatever he was feeling. But still no one moved. And it wasn’t like Bitty himself could comfort Jack; Jack didn’t hate him anymore, at least, and they were almost-friends, but it wasn’t Bitty’s place.

So instead, Eric stayed at the table with the guys. The mood had turned south, and not even Ransom and Holster could pull it up.

Bitty sat with his head still swimming in the scent of sour that had rolled off Jack in waves, it was almost like it had sunk into the leather of the booth, the fabric of Eric’s clothes, covered every part of him.

He wished he had followed Jack.

 

The second round as upon them, right on the heels of the first round. They were up against Quinnipiac. And they were proving to be difficult. The third and final game was on them, both teams had a win. This game settled who would be heading towards the Frozen Four, which team would be playing their last of the season.

It had every nerve ending in Bitty lit aflame. God, what if he fucked it up?

It was the third period, they were still tied at 0-0, and every second felt like it could be the last. And it was so rough, the Bobcats were pushing as hard as they could, not moving an inch for the Wellies, and the Wellies weren’t moving either.

And Suzanne was in the crowd, cheering them on. Bitty had been able to see her a couple times, but knowing she was in the audience caused him to tense up even more.

Jack must have sensed Bitty’s anxiety, because he skated up to Eric, placing his gloved hand on his shoulder.

“Bittle—if you can get the puck, wheel around back door and send it to me between the dots. You can get past that D-man.”

Bitty’s eyes tracked the defenseman. He was huge, almost as wide as he was tall, and every time Eric had zoomed pass him, waves of unbridled Alpha came off. “But that’s the same guy who knock the wind out of _Holster_ during second period. He’s—” Bitty paused, stuttering slightly, “—He’s huge. Jack, I don’t think I should—”

Jack cut him off, “Bittle, I’ve got your back.”

That was the first time Jack had ever told him that. Maybe they were more than almost-friends? Maybe they were friends?

Bitty stuttered out an “okay.”

And then they were going. And it was working! Bitty had the puck and he was sending it to Jack and it was going in and then—then—then.

Suddenly Eric was airborne. It was like time had frozen. His heart thudding wildly in his chest. The D-man was just under him, trying to get Bitty away from the puck. But that didn’t matter, because the ice was getting and closer and closer to Bitty’s face. Each inch between them being eaten up.

And then it all came crashing back to real time. The ice was cold under Bitty’s cheek—his cheek? Where was his helmet?—and everything went slightly out of focus as his head snapped back from the rebound of the ice.

There was a roaring in Eric’s ears, the sound of his blood rushing so loud. But then he realized that there was an outside roaring, like shouting.  
“Son, son, can you get up?”

Bitty looked up into the face of the ref.

“I—I think so.”

With a little help from the ref, Bitty was back upon his skates, heading towards the bench. All of the guys looked worried, Coach Murray helped Eric through the little side door before they rushed off towards where the EMT was waiting.

Coach Murray stayed with him the whole time, a calming presence. But a thought occurred to him.

“Can you get my mama? She’ll have seen me get checked, and I don’t want her to worry herself sick.”

Coach Murray nodded, “We’ll have someone get her and bring her back.”

Bitty wanted to nod response, but some part of him knew that wouldn’t feel good, so he just whispered a soft, “Okay.”

 

It ended up being a concussion. A mild one, whatever that meant.

Suzanne had been a wreck she came into the locker room, just like he thought she would be.

“Dicky, oh baby,” her voice was choked with tears; she flung her arms around his shoulders, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “I was so worried, baby. Your helmet came off, I had never been so scared in my whole life, and, Dicky—”

“Mama! I’m okay. Well I mean not okay okay, I have a concussion—”

“A concussion,” Suzanne broke in, pulling away from Bitty.

“—but they said it was a mild one. When we get back to the hotel, I just need to wake up every couple of hours, which I’m sure Johnson will _love_. And I’m out for the rest of the season, and I can’t skate over summer, either.”

Suzanne sniffled, wiping one of her eyes.

“Are you sure you feel alright, baby? Do you want to stay in my room tonight?”

Bitty shook his head lightly, and then winced. That did not feel good. “No, mama. You’ll be up half of the night trying to take care of me. You need your rest, your flight is tomorrow, right?”

Suzanne nodded solemnly, “You’re right, Dicky.”

“Now, the rest of the guys are probably going to be back in here in soon, and I don’t think you’ll want to be here for that.”

Suzanne laughed shakily, “Okay, baby. I’ll head out. Call me when you get settled back in your hotel room.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then headed out.

And that’s when it all hit him. He was out for the rest of the season. And all of summer. Hell, there was even a chance he wouldn’t be cleared to play in the fall. And it was all over.

Bitty had been worried all year about his performance on the ice, his fear of being checked, his grades, his interteam dynamics; and it was going to be a fucking concussion that would ruin him on the ice. What was a hockey scholarship worth if he couldn’t even play?

There was sudden clamoring, and then all of SMH was pouring into the otherwise empty locker room. Ransom, Holster, Lardo, and Shitty made a quick beeline towards Bitty. Voices all overlapping.

“Bits—” “Bitty, bro—” “That fucking goon—” “Are you okay—”  
Jack’s voice cut through, “He can’t answer if you talk over him.”

Bitty quickly looked Jack, he looked just as concerned as the four in front of him

“Thanks, Jack. I have a mild concussion. I _should_ be fine, but I can’t play.”

Jack nodded understandingly, “What’s needed for your health.”

Shitty suddenly seemed to realize something, “Bitty, brah, we’re fucking going to the Frozen Four! Brah! Without your pass to Jack, we wouldn’t be!”

Everyone started yelling again.

Yeah, they were going to the Frozen Four, but Eric wouldn’t be playing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my 20th birthday happened at the start of August, right after I posted C'mon Baby. And then work picked up really quickly, with me working really irregular hours, and training for my new job. And then school started up in the middle of August, and wow. Taking three 300 levels at once is not fun, do not recommend. Junior year of College is starting out rough.  
> Hopefully chapter 9 doesn't take me as long to write!  
> Follow me on tumblr at [TheLittlestCaptainAmerica](http://thelittlestcaptainamerica.tumblr.com)!!


	9. 'Cause I Feel Like I'm Always Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO'S THAT POKEMON?
> 
> IT'S THEGIRLWITHAKITE WITH AN UPDATE OF WHAT IS IT ABOUT YOU THAT I CAN'T ERASE
> 
> That's right, boys and girls and what have you, there is a new chapter of the elusive ABO rewrite. I decided to go a little longer with this chapter than the other chapters just as a present for how long this update took! The end notes will have more details (also lol at the previous chapter's end notes)!
> 
> edit: I noticed a problem with my italics, I will be poking around in the chapters and checking on that

They didn’t win. They got shut out. It was over.

Bitty knew objectively it wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t help to think it was. If only he hadn’t gotten checked so hard. If only he had been paying more attention. If only—

Sometimes he had to shake himself and take a deep breath to get away from that train of thought. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he kept dwelling on the past.

It was the beginning of April, and for the first time since August Eric had free time. More than his usual few hours each night that were supposed to be dedicated for only studying, but he really used that time for baking.

But now, with all this extra free time, he could spend it on sleeping. And, of course, more baking.

There was a new fixture in the Haus kitchen, though. It wasn’t an appliance, but a person. Johnson.

The first time Johnson had shown up silently at the kitchen table, Bitty had nearly jumped out of his skin.

“ _Johnson_! What are you doing in here? Well, besides from this being your Haus, but like, you know what I mean,” Bitty had said, gesturing with his whisk.

Johnson had just shrugged noncommittally, “It’s chill, just needed a new atmosphere. Upstairs is all broody with loud thoughts. It’s softer down here. Still loud thoughts, though.”

“…okay.”

Johnson soon became a soothing presence in the kitchen, the earthy scent of moss and the strange electric fire smell were welcome, even if he was a tad weird.

“Miley Cyrus is too loud and angry to make souffle, Eric,” He had said one day. 

“Huh?” Bitty had asked, confused.

“The beat, y’know? _Bangerz_ just isn’t right. Maybe some early Tswift. Softer that way. Your souffle won’t fall that way.”

“My souffles have never—”

Johnson had just raised one eyebrow before cocking his head towards the oven, where the souffle had, indeed, fallen. Eric stopped questioning Johnson’s music choices after that, because they tended to lean towards the best baked goods.

Sometimes Johnson would duck out suddenly, and within moments Ollie and Wicks would come banging into the Haus, asking where he was.

Bitty also learned more about Johnson through these kitchen encounters. The day Bitty was going with a tried and true recipe for banana muffins was one of them.

“Why do you work down here and not upstairs?” Bitty asked, offhandedly one day. He had been wondering for the last few weeks since Johnson had started showing up.

“The combination of Jack and Shitty is not conducive to writing about the metaphysicality of our world and the potential audiences that come with it.”

Bity looked at him confused, eyebrows knit together, trying to make sense of what Johnson had even said.

Luckily, Johnson took pity on him.

“My senior thesis. Can’t think with all that brooding and pining. Also, Shitty smokes too much in the reading room. I’m not a fan of getting contact high.”

Bitty nodded, that made some remote sense. Well, at least the part about Shitty. He wasn’t too sure about the “brooding and pining.”

Eric didn’t press after that, just enjoying the simple conversation that would come and go.

 

It was early May when the world came crashing down around Bitty. It was a simple and innocent Saturday morning. He had a new recipe for macarons—he had not yet been able to master making them with ease and it had seemed like the perfect day to take another crack at them, until it wasn’t.

His first clue should have been when he saw Shitty and Lardo in the yard, Shitty was lying down with his head in Lardo’s lap.

But what really stopped him short was seeing Johnson and Jack sitting glumly on the front porch.

“Hey, hey y’all.”

“It’s not safe in there, Bitsy boots,” Shitty called out.

Bitty furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Ransom and Holster stopped taking their suppressants and their ruts started,” Lardo replied.

Eric was shocked, Alphas shouldn’t be around each other when in rut. “And they’re in the Haus alone?!”

Shitty shot straight up, nearly smacking his face into the underside of Lardo’s chin. “Wait, Bits you don’t know.”

Lardo shoved Shitty for almost knocking into her.

“Know what?”

He could almost feel Jack’s eyeroll. “They’re mated.”

Bitty blinked hard. “They’re _what_.”

But the end of his sentence was cut off by a loud growl followed by a louder moan resonating out of the attic window.

Shitty settled back down in Lardo’s lap. “Jacky boy, don’t lie to the boy.” Shitty pointed at Bitty. “They’re not _mated_ mated, they’re pretty sure they’re in a triad and are waiting to make things official.”

“A triad?”

“Yeah, Bit Bit,” Lardo drawled out. “A triad. Instead of your usual one on one, it’s one on one on one. In Rans and Holsty’s case, it’s two Alphas, and they’re pretty sure their third is an Omega. That’s why they’re always trolling for girls.”

A lot of things suddenly made a lot more sense. Flashes of the two together passed through Eric’s mind: of Holster being overprotective of Ransom and vice versa, of them both chatting up the same Omega at parties, of how unbothered they both had been when Bitty had come out to them. Bitty had just though they had been being good bros.

As Eric’s new world readjusted around him, a thought occurred.

“How are they in rut? I thought we had to be on suppressants?”

Lardo replied first, “Well, yeah, you guys are supposed to be on suppressants, but when the season ends, Ransom and Holster always go off of them because spending your heats slash ruts with someone else is the best way to spend them. Especially if your mate is available to spend them with you. Ya dig?”

Jack nodded along from his position on the porch, him being the only Alpha around besides her.

Bitty just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Shitty gave Bitty a look. “Bitty,” he started, trepidatiously, “have you never spent your heat with someone?”

Eric could feel all their eyes on him again, it felt like every person on the street was looking at him.  

“Uh, well, _no_. Mama and Coach wanted me to wait ‘till marriage, and in Madison you can't really find any unmated male Alpha willing to mate with a male Omega. So I wasn’t, like, raking in the suitors or having to beat ‘em off or anything.” Bitty shrugged, still feeling awkward.

“You said ‘wanted’,” Jack spoke, he hadn't said anything in a few minutes. “What changed?”

Bitty sent a quick prayer up to God, hoping that today would be the day he was smited for his sins. No such luck. He was still standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, he folded himself onto the lawn next to Shitty and Lardo before answering. Eric had pushed the thought of the Heat Clinic from his mind, almost repressing the memory of that horrible dinner with his parents.

“They—well, I'm sure more of my Mama—want to me to go to a Heat Clinic this summer, to spend at least one of my heats with another person before I get mated.”

Shitty was still staring at Bitty with that look in his eyes. “Bits, do you want to do that?”

Suddenly, Lardo’s hand flashed up and dropped a handful of grass directly into Shitty’s face.

“What the _fuck_ , Lards,” Shitty sputtered out, now sitting up and wiping blades out of his stache and flow. “The question still stands, Bitty.”

“I-I don’t know,” Eric mumbled, watching ants walk a march up the sidewalk.

More than a beat, but less than a moment of awkward silence passed. None of them spoke.

This is why Bitty hated talks that focused on his orientation and his experiences as an Omega. Because he didn't have any. The furthest he had gotten was last semester after Winter Screw and that ended with him alone in his dorm room.

“I think I'm gonna head back to my dorm,” Bitty announced. “I can't use the oven, and as lovely as it is talking with y’all, I really should be studying if I'm not baking.”

Their goodbyes hit Eric’s back as he walked back down the road towards his dorm. He never wanted to talk about his heats out loud again.

 

Maybe Bitty was being dramatic, yet he couldn’t help but find himself avoiding them all, even though he still spent multiple hours in the Haus. He knew, objectively, that they weren’t grilling him about his heat, but his southern upbringing still made him uncomfortable that anyone knew anything about the status of his heat and heat partners.

Bitty made it almost a week with actively avoiding anyone in the Haus—besides Johnson, who still sat in the kitchen but didn’t talk, like he knew that Eric didn’t want—when Lardo corned him in the kitchen.

The quick movement out of the corner of his eye—just a flash of black and purple—almost made Bitty drop his mixing bowl. Almost. He was an amateur professional.

“Are you avoiding us? Why are you ghosting in the group message?” Lardo demanded, an edge to her voice.

Bitty set the bowl down and wiped his hands on a towel. “Hi, Lardo. Don’t you usually have class now?”

Lardo narrowed her eyes. “Yes, but it got cancelled. You’re avoiding the question, brah.”

“It’s just that,” Bitty stopped, looking around the room. “Actually, can we not talk here?” With a house full of enhanced hearing, there were some things he didn’t want to say.

Lardo just nodded, “Sure, Bits. Let’s get some Annie’s”

Eric neatly covered the bowl, with a threatening sticky note on top of it, and put it into the fridge. Together they walked out of the Haus, a companionable silence passing between them, neither pressing to fill it. Bitty worried his bottom lip, he already didn’t want to talk about anything related to what happened on the lawn, but he couldn’t just evade Lardo’s questions. It wasn’t that simple, especially when she was just a foot away.

The walk across campus passed quickly, and Annie’s loomed in front of them. Well, as much as a cute little hipster coffee shop could loom. There was soft music that played, barely able to be heard over the hustle and bustle going on behind the counter.

They ordered quietly, and then scoped out a small corner booth.

Lardo took a sip of her drink, with one eyebrow expectantly raised.

Bitty sighed, his hands gripped the mug.

“It’s just _weird_ , y’know? I don’t really like talking about things about my heat, specifically about my lack of experience with it. And just being grilled on it, it felt weird. And now you all know. And I’m just so embarrassed, because y’all have obviously spent your ruts with someone, and I’ve never done that. And now you know.”

Lardo’s hand wrapped around Bitty’s. “Bro, no one cares about that sort of junk. If it makes you feel better, as an Alpha, it doesn’t change how I see you. In fact, it kind makes you more desirable, y’know? Never spending a heat with someone else? Being the first to do that is a really cool experience. Like, I’m talking ultra extra hawt.”

Bitty let out a nervous laugh, “Really?”

“Yeah, Bits,” Lardo enthused, “Like I’ve been sharing my ruts with other people for a while, and I’ve helped an Omega here or there through theirs, and it’s always an experience.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Yeah, heat and rut sex is the _best_ don’t get me wrong, but having someone help you through your heat isn’t going to be the same as having normal sex. Like, bro, hooking up with an Omega when you’re in the right mind is like a whole other thing. If you want to save your first time for your heat, that’s up to you. But I have it on good authority your first time having heat sex is even better when you have some kind of experience under your belt.”

Eric ran a finger around the rim of his mug. “Yeah, I guess.”

Lardo leaned forward on the table, “Bitty, have you never…at all?”

“…no,” Bitty mumbled.

“Shitty said you went home with your Screw date.”

“Yeah, but we didn't do anything. We maybe made out a little and then he left.”

“Did you want it to go further?”

Bitty was quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Lardo furrowed her brow. “Why didn't you then?”

“He said….”

“What did he say?” Lardo pressed.

“That he didn't sleep with virgins.”

Bitty could sense the rage flow off of Lardo, but she quickly clamped down on it. “That fucking prick. Well, you're better than that, Bits.”

Eric smiled weakly before taking a sip. “Yeah?”

Lardo nodded, a serious expression on her face. “Brah, if you even remotely interested in pussy, I would straight up try to court you.”

Bitty laughed for what felt like the first time in a while. “Shut up, Lards,” he said before taking a deep drink out of his mug.

“I'm serious, Bitty,” she continued, laughter underlying her words, “We could get a sweet ass place post grad, you could be the fiercest little HouseOmega on the block. I could be rolling in the dough from my art. Have a crap ton of little mixed babies who are like four feet tall. It’ll be great. Don't doubt the Duan genes, B.”

Bitty let out a peal of laughter, and Lardo joined in. It felt so good to laugh and not be serious. No matter how much he platonically loved Lardo, being mated to her would have been horrendous.

“In all seriousness,” Lardo said after a few moments, wiping tears from her eyes and effortlessly not messing up her eyeliner, “You’re a catch. That knothead had no idea what he was missing out on.”

Bitty just rolled his eyes and drank more of his coffee.

“We chill?”

“Yeah, we’re chill.”

“You’ll prolly want to talk to Shitty, though. He was chomping at the bit to grovel at your feet for overstepping your boundaries.”

Eric wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I will. I'm sorry I ignored y’all. It's just hard to talk about.”

Lardo nodded again, in that way where it felt like she already knew everything. “No biggie. Knucks?”

Bitty reached out to bump fists with her.

 

As the semester wound down towards finals, Bitty was nervous. He hadn't been home since Christmas, but he had gotten to see Suzanne in March for the round in the tournament he got concussed, so his mama fix was sated. Eric missed his room in Madison, the sweet privacy that was vacant from his dorm room. But with home came the closet. He would have to shut down everything that he had been accepting about himself. Turn it all off. Be the quiet Omega Madison expected.

And his heat.

He didn't even want to think about his heat.

But it was all he could focus on at any time his mind was idle. Going nine months without a heat had almost reshaped his life, Bitty was on a team full of Alphas and Betas and they didn't see him as just an Omega. They say him as a teammate, someone to depend on, someone who maybe couldn't take a check but you could bounce a puck off of.

He would have to be Dicky again, who still went against Omega norms, but was still a good little Omega who would end up with a strong Alpha who would take care of him.

It scared him.

It scared him so much.

The freedom that Samwell offered was one that he didn't want to let go. Madison meant closing all of that up. It meant having heats again. It meant losing himself to biology and not knowing himself. Bitty’s heats were usually three to four days in length, but he couldn't even guess how long it would be after being stocked up for so long.

Which brought him back around to how he was going to spend his next heat. In a heat clinic with some unknown Alpha whose job it was to just help him through his heat. Bitty was still terrified, but it sent an undefinable thrill down his spine.

Then there was the problem that his parents didn’t know that he was...gay. That the Alpha whose knot he would be locked on would be a man. Not a woman. Which also terrified him.

Maybe there was a chance they wouldn't know. Maybe they could just accept that there weren't any female Alphas. Yeah, that's what Eric could tell them after he filled out the paperwork. Yeah. That could work.

 

Two weeks before Finals Week, they had practice. Well, less of practice, and more of a team meeting in Faber. They were to go over the end of the season, clean out lockers, and vote for awards. It was always Eric’s least favorite part of the season, well besides losing, since it officially meant the season was over. His freshman season was over, it felt so bittersweet. But it was _done_ , he had survived—be it with a concussion, but still he survived a whole season of collegiate hockey.

It might even be his last. If his concussion didn’t get better, he could be done for.

“Okay, team, I’m passing out ballots for the awards this season. The backside is for team captain, make sure you fill that out as well. I’m looking at you, Stevens,” Coach Murray called out.

It wasn't easy choosing who to vote for for the awards, he had to think long and hard about each selection. Except for captain, that was easy. Eric didn't have to deliberate for a single moment, he couldn't imagine anyone besides Jack leading the team. Despite their differences, Jack was a true leader. He made sure that Bitty was comfortable with checking, and did a bunch of other captain-y stuff that Bitty approved of from his days of being captain of his tiny co-ed team. It was the only logical choice.

“Who’d ya vote for, Bits?” Holsters voice asked suddenly and very closely to Bitty’s ear.

Bitty most definitely did not let out a startled yelp (okay, he did). He turned and glared at Holster who was sitting in the stands behind him.

“It's _confidential_ , Holster. I would've thought you had manners.”

Ransom laughed from his place next to Holster, they were leaning together, and Bitty could track the movements of Ransom’s hand on Holster’s thigh.

“Bits, have you ever known Holster to have manners?”

Eric mock considered it. “Well, _no_. But I won't give up on trying to instil them in him.”

“Southern hospitality and wooden spoon threats can only go so far, Bitty.”

Bitty fixed them both a faux withering look.

The Friday before Finals Week was the banquet. Bitty had to hitch a ride with Ollie and Wicks, as they were the only ones who lived in his dorm and owned a car.

The banquet went well. Bitty won an award! He didn't even think he was in the running for the Carlisle Award! The team really thought that he exemplified the team spirit with his enthusiasm and devotion?

Jack was named team captain again, unanimously. The shock on Jack’s face was completely unbelievable, as if he couldn't understand why that they wanted him to be captain.

 

The morning of May fifth rolled around, and Bitty woke up not feeling all that different. He was nineteen. The last year of being a teenager. His day did start out differently, though. Instead of the musical tones of Beyonce drifting from his phone, it was the sharp one that meant that Suzanne was calling.

“‘Ello?” Bitty mumbled into the phone, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Dicky! Happy Birthday! You’re nineteen! Oh, I can’t believe how grown up you are!”

“Hi, mama,” Bitty yawned out. He rolled onto his side, pulling his covers up to his chin. “What time is it?”

“It’s seven a.m.! I could barely wait to call you and wish you Happy Birthday!”

Bitty huffed out a laugh. “Thank you, mama. But I don’t have to be up for another hour or so.”

“Yes,” Suzanne said, “But your daddy is here, and I didn’t want you to miss him when I called later. Here he is.” Bitty could hear her passing off the phone. “Don’t forget to tell him Happy Birthday,” he heard her call out in the background.

“Happy Birthday, Junior.” Coach said across the phone line.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Have a good day. Here’s your mother.”

“Eric! You could have said more than that.” Suzanne huffed out. “Sorry, Dicky. He’s in a hurry to get to work. Apparently he left some quizzes on his desk and needs to grade them before the kids start showing up. So what’s the plan for today?”

Bitty sat up in bed, no use in trying to get more sleep. “Nothing really, I have practice at eight, team breakfast at nine, class at ten. I get done around one, so I think I’ll head over to the Haus bake a cake for my birthday and ask the guys if they want to go out to dinner to celebrate.”

“You didn’t tell them it was your birthday?”

“…no? I guess it slipped my mind.”

“Eric Richard Bittle, I’m going to facebook Larissa and tell her!”

“Mama!” Bitty all but shouted into the phone, “She’s gonna make a big ole deal out of it if you do.”

“But, baby,” She sniffed, “I’m not there to celebrate with you. You deserve to have the best day.”

Bitty sighed. “Okay, mama. How about _I_ text Lardo and ask her set something up.”

He could practically hear Suzanne’s smile. “Okie dokie, Dicky!”

After wrapping up his conversation with Suzanne, he set about texting Lardo.

**To: Lardo**

_Hey, today is my 19th_

_birthday. Would you_

_mind setting something_

_up with the guys for me?_

**From: Lardo**

_WHAT! TODAY IS YOUR_

_BIRTHDAY!!!!!! WHY DIDN’T_

_YOU TELL ME!!!!!!!_

**To: Lardo**

_Sorry, it just slipped my mind._

_I’m gonna go by the Haus_

_after class and make a cake._

_Just pick a restaurant for_

_dinner and tell the guys about_

_It?_

**From: Lardo**

_Brah, your birthday dinner_

_will be fucking swawesome._

When Eric walked into the locker room, he was basically tackled by Ransom and Holster.

“Brah, it’s your birthday?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?

“Yeah, I thought we were bros, what the fuck.”

“Don’t you love us, Bitty?”

Bitty laughed. “It just slipped my mind. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Brah, you’re getting so wasted after dinner tonight,” Shitty said, coming up behind Ransom and Holster. “The most wasted you’ve ever fucking been. Like I’m talking worse than Hazeapalooza.”

A shiver ran through Bitty’s body. He didn’t remember all of Hazeapalooza, but just the name gave him a pavlovian response.

“Shits,” Holster said, turning to him. “Springfest is this weekend, do we really want to get him that drunk twice in one week?”

Shitty hummed, contemplating. “Okay, maybe not that shit faced.”

The rest of the day went fine, despite Ransom or Holster trying to get everyone to sing _Happy Birthday_ to him.

The cake Bitty made was triple layer Devil’s Food cake with thick chocolate buttercream icing and fondant hockey sticks and pucks around the sides. He may have gone a little overboard.

The restaurant that Lardo picked was a short walk from the Haus, and the guys kept switching drinks with Bitty when the waitress wasn’t looking. Bitty had built up some tolerance over the months, but by the time they left the restaurant, he was beyond tipsy, maybe halfway to drunk. The rest of the night was a blur of a kegster, Bitty thinks he might have done a kegstand or three. Each time, Ransom and Holster scream counting to nineteen. It was probably one of the craziest birthdays of his life.

 

And then the semester was officially done.

Only Finals Week left.

Bitty’s suitemates had started asking him if he wanted to live with them for the next school year. Bitty honestly wasn’t sure. He had told them he would think about it.

He had just walked out of Annie’s—frappes were the cure for indecision, when he bumped into Johnson. As in, literally, plowed into him.

“Oh gosh. Johnson, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you!”

Johnson just laughed and waved him off. “It’s okay, Bittle. I was looking for you.”

“Oh,” Bitty said, a little shocked. “About what?”

Johnson stuck out his hand. “You have my dibs, bro.”

“Okay?” Bitty said tentatively, shaking hand with Johnson.

“Go talk to Lardo about it. See ya! It’s date night with Aailia!” Johnson shouted as he mosied on off into the distance.

Bitty turned around setting course for the Haus. Lardo had texted him earlier saying she would be there.

In a scene reminiscent to a much more distressing one, all the other members of the Haus (plus Lardo) were on the front lawn. This time, however, Ransom and Holster were with them. They had even dragged the gross green couch out from the den, which Lardo and Shitty were sitting on. Ransom was stretched out on a lawn chair, with Jack on the ground next to him on a blanket. Holster was manning a beat up old grill. They all had various books and notebooks strewn about them.

“Hey, Lardo!” Bitty called out, walking up. “Johnson told me to come talk to you. He just shook my hand and said ‘you’ve got my dibs, bro.’ What does that mean?”

They all stared at him, in differing multitudes of shock, insult, and disgust.

Was Johnson pranking him? Eric had thought they had been getting along, but the faces in front of him made him question Johnson’s motives.

“Um, oh gosh. I know this is Samwell and all, but I don’t know how that could have been offensive.”

And then the shouting happened.

“ _The hell_!?” Ransom yelled, throwing his notebook. “I did Dave Cohen’s homework for a month before he gave me dibs!”

Holster waved his spatula. “Yeah, well, try being Alex Berger’s personal maid for a semester. And he made me wear a frilly apron.”

“Lifetime back massages for Carter Marsh. He still comes back for them,” Shitty said in an uncharacteristically calm voice.

Bitty had had enough. “ _What are dibs?”_

“Bittle, it means you get Johnson’s room next year,” Jack all but scoffed, never looking up from  his notecards.

Ransom and Holster then went on to explain how dibs worked and what dibs were.

That solved the living situation crisis that Bitty had been going through, at least. He was tired of having to share a suite with people who were almost never there, and when they were, they took no interest in him.

 

Having Johnson’s room in the Haus made packing easier, because all of the big things that took up most of the room in Bitty’s suitcases could now just sit in the Haus over summer, instead of having to lug it around for over a thousand miles. Ransom volunteered his car to move the stuff over, and while putting everything in, Bitty spotted Ollie and Wicks sulking across the parking lot.

He was suddenly hit with the notion that Ollie and Wicks had been vying for Johnson’s dibs.

“Oh,” Eric breathed out.

“What, Bits?” Ransom asked, poking his head into the car. “Did you forget something?”

“Uh, no. Just realized something. Not that it matters.”

Ransom just laughed, “Okay, Bits.”

After Bitty had learned that Ransom and Holster were together, it eased some sort of unknown tension that he had about the two Alphas. He hadn’t consciously and actively thought that either of them would suddenly take an interest in him, but knowing they had each other and that all year he wasn’t a target in their search for an Omega, was a comfort of some kind. Despite his and Lardo’s talk a few weeks earlier, he still wasn’t completely comfortable talking or thinking about mating or heat/rut cycles.

He was gonna have to come to terms with that and suck it up over the summer, because come fall he was going to live in an house with three Alphas (plus one Beta, but hey, who’s counting?).

His call to Suzanne had not been an easy one.

 _“Hey, mama,”_ _Bitty said after Suzanne picked up the phone._

_“Oh, Dicky! It’s so good to hear from you, baby! Now I’m picking you up in Atlanta on Friday, that’s correct isn’t it? I don’t want to have my dates mixed up.”_

_“Yes, mama. That’s when I’m flying. Mama—” He started to tell her about the Haus but she cut him off._

_“Oh, I hope your daddy will be able to come with me. Your bags were so heavy on the way up!”_

_“Mother,” Bitty said sternly, “I’m trying to tell you about that! Our goalie, Johnson, he offered me his old spot in the team house, so I’m gonna live there next year!”_

_There was silence, and then sudden talking. “Oh, that’s so nice! He just gave it to you?”_

_“Yeah! Apparently it’s really hard to get a spot in the Haus, but Johnson just offered it! I think Ollie and Wicks were competing for it.”_

_“They’re not angry at you, are they, sweetie?”_

_Bitty laughed, “No, I don’t think so.”_

_“Well, at least your bags will be so much lighter!”_

_“Yes, that they will.”_

Bitty was sure that it hadn’t even crossed Suzanne’s or Coach’s mind that he would be living in close quarters with Alphas, probably the excitement of another display in acceptance of the team was keeping her from thinking about it.

Ransom helped Eric carry the boxes into the foyer, but from there Bitty said he could handle it. He slowly lugged them all up the stairs—he would unpack them in August, they were labeled well enough that confusion wouldn’t set in. Every now and then, Bitty would make things alright for Future Bitty to Handle.

Bitty had only been to the upstairs of the Haus a handful of times. He knew that Johnson’s room—well his room now—was across from Jack’s room and that he would have to share a bathroom with Ransom and Holster. Johnson had told him that he would leave the key in the lock.

The room was mostly empty, well of personal items at least. It was still mostly furnished—bed, desk, dresser, shelf space. At least that answered the question of how much Bitty would need to buy for his room/future hausmates. Eric had six boxes, each heavy enough to warrant their own trip up and down the stairs. On the third trip up, Eric’s phone began to ring.

Juggling the box with one hand, and his phone with the other, Bitty answered. “Hello?”

“Dicky? It’s your mama.”

“Hi! Sorry, I’m moving my boxes right now,” Bitty said, shouldering the door to his room open.

“Oh, goodie!” Suzanne all but squealed into the phone. “Have you seen the room? What all do we need to buy?”

“Well, Johnson actually left quite a bit of furniture—”

“What state is it in?” Suzanne cut in. “Do you think we should replace any of it?”

Bitty huffed out a laugh. “It’s _all right_. I might get a new mattress though.” A thought suddenly entered his head. “Oh! Mama! You know what I want? New curtains for the kitchen! And industrial strength cleaning and scent blocking supplies for down stairs. And—”

A knock came from the door, loud enough for Suzanne to hear it down the line.

“Who is that? Is that _Mr. Crappy_? You don’t live across from him do you?”

Eric laughed again, lord he was ready to see his mama again. “I don’t live across from ‘Mr. Crappy’, remember?” He said, crossing the room to the door. “I live ‘cross from—Jack!” He pulled back the door to reveal that Jack was behind it, a blue duffle bag hanging from one shoulder. _Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear_ , and all that. “Hello!”

Jack looked flustered; the warm scent of baking bread and the sudden sharpness of ice flooded Bitty’s senses. “Oh, sorry.”

“Mother, I’ll call you back.” Bitty hung up before he could hear her reply.

“Jack, I thought you had left for the prospect camp in Chicago!” It was all he and Shitty could talk about in the last few weeks.

Jack still looked flustered. “I’m about to head out. Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted—”

Bitty cut in quickly, not wanting Jack to feel put out. “No worries! I was just telling my mom how I wanted to do up the Haus.”

Jack shifted the strap of his duffle bag, “Yeah, well—”

Bitty cut him off, word vomiting everywhere. “Really fix up the den, y’know? Clean up the kitchen, maybe get some curtains.” Jack opened his mouth to interject, but it was useless. “Get rid of the _nasty green couch_ in the den, I can’t believe I’ve sat on that thing.”

“Bittle—”

“Shitty said he would kill me if I did, _but let me tell you_ —that thing is a health hazard if I’ve ever seen one—”

“ _Bittle!_ ” Jack all but shouted this time, but he didn’t use his Alpha voice. So like, improvements.

Bitty still flinched back, oh lord, he had done it this time. What had he said?

“Listen, before I leave, I just want to make sure we’re cool.” Jack took a deep breath, like he was steadying himself. His duffle slipped to the ground “That you knew, I’m sorry about that hit. After everything that had happened this year, I really appreciate that you still voted for me.”

Bitty just smiled, if not a little bashfully. “Jack, of course! I mean,” Eric said, swallowing. “It’s been amazing playing with you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to be captain.”

“Thanks, Bittle.” He reached down and picked up his duffle. “Well, I’ve got a plane to catch. My dad says hi, by the way. He always asks me how you and your mom are doing.”

Bitty leaned back against the wall of the hallway, and ran a hand through his hair. “Oh lord, if she knew that she would faint.”

Jack pointed a finger at him. “Don’t strain yourself moving these boxes, get Ransom or Holster to help. You don’t need to aggravate your concussion.”

Eric nodded. For a split second, he had thought that Jack had meant that he couldn’t move the boxes by himself because of his orientation, but it made more sense that Jack was talking about his concussed state.

Jack walked down their little shared hallway. He called over his shoulder “Oh, and before I forget. This summer?” Jack stopped right before the stairs. “Eat more protein.”

He left, pounding down the stairs, but the sweet scent of maple, one Eric had never smelled so strongly before, lingered on the second floor.  

He felt almost woozy with it.

He shook himself slightly, and headed back into his room.

 

Bitty collided into Suzanne’s arms.

“Dicky!”

“Mama!”

Suzanne buried her face against Eric’s chest, her arms tightly wrapped around him. “Oh baby, I’ve missed you so much!”

“Me too!”

Suzanne pulled back giving Bitty a wide smile, which he matched wholeheartedly.

“Junior.”

Bitty let go of Suzanne, sticking his hand out to his father.

“Sir.”

Coach’s hand was warm and rough from calluses, just like Bitty remembered. Even with all the colliding scents of the airport, Bitty took in a deep breath of his parents’ scents. Cloves and cinnamon, mixing in the air around him smelt like home.

“How was your semester? Your mama and I caught your last game on ESPN, shame about losing. I’m sure the seniors would have loved to go all the way.”

Bitty nodded. “My semester was good, sir. The guys wanted to go all the way, but this was the furthest Samwell had gotten in a long while.”  
Coach nodded appreciatively. He looked down at Bitty’s bags curiously.

“Your mama mentioned you weren’t living in the dorms?”

Bitty nodded. “One of the seniors offered me his room in the team house. I had spent a lot of time there over the year baking, so it’ll just be easier living there. Also, I’m really good friends with all the guys who live there.”

“Let’s head out, Bittles,” Coach said, grabbing a hold of Bitty’s suitcase and heading towards the exit.

“Remind me again which ones live there,” Suzanne cut in. “It’s Adam, Justin, Jack, and Mr. Crappy, correct?”

Bitty nodded.

“And what their orientations, again?”

Bitty swallowed nervously. “ _Mr. Crappy_ is a beta.”

“I remember that Jack is an Alpha, you mentioned he was dating some girl, right? But what about Adam and Justin?”

“Adam and Justin are both Alphas but they’re both mated,” Bitty rushed out, intentionally not mentioning that Ransom and Holster were mated to each other. That was another can of worms altogether.

“Oh, well that’s nice. They’re only a year older than you, right?”

Bitty nodded quickly. “Yes, apparently they met at the start of college, and just knew.”

“That’s how it was with me and your daddy.” Suzanne smiled. “One day I looked at him during sophomore year of high school and just knew he was gonna be my mate. Granted, he didn’t ask me out until senior year.”

“You were scary. I was terrified.”

Suzanne laughed as they saddled up next to Coach’s truck. “I was scary? You were a six foot two football player!”

“I saw how you tore apart Tommy Hinds after he cheated on Cindy Walters.”

Suzanne huffed as she vaulted into the front seat of the truck. “Tommy Hinds had it coming to him. Cindy was head over heels for him, and he two timed her with some little Omega a town over. Well, she mated with Sam Baldwin, and Tommy is stuck with that Omega he fooled around with. So, we saw who really ended up on top with that.”

Coach chuckled, “See what I mean, Junior? She’s scary.”

“I am _not_ , Eric!”

Bitty settled into the back seat, every few years or so, the two would have this conversation. It was usually one of the rare times he heard his father carry a conversation longer than a couple of sentences. Coach was almost always a different man when he and Suzanne fell into deep conversation, sometimes Bitty could even see what made his mother fall in love with him.

Bitty hoped he would feel that way with his mate one day.

 

“Dicky?” Suzanne asked tentatively.

Bitty looked up from the cupcake he was icing in green. “Yes, mother?”

“Have you thought about it some more?”

“About that recipe you found in _Good Homes Magazine_? A little, it sounds like it could be fun, a bit easy mind you, but fun.”

“I thought the same!” She stopped herself and took a deep breath. “I meant about you taking a heat partner this summer.”

“Oh.”

Bitty looked back down at the cupcake, and continued icing it.

“I guess. It’s just, y’know, weird and stuff.”

“I know what you mean, Dicky. If your grandmama had asked me to do that before I mated with your daddy, I would have about blown a gasket. If you don’t want to you, you don’t have to, baby.”

Bitty sighed and set down his icing bag. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that it’s _embarrassing_.”

Suzanne finished making the icing rose on her cupcake. “Dicky, I know it’s embarrassing, but it might be a good thing for you to do.” She lowered her voice. “I love your daddy with every ounce of my body, and I don’t regret a single moment with him, but sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to have some kind of experience before our wedding night. It can be even more embarrassing when both of you don’t know what you’re doing and you’re fumbling around in the dark, trying to make sure all the parts go where they’re supposed to.”

“ _Mother_!”

“Well, Dicky. It’s the truth. If you decide you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. You’ll have to decide soon though, I’m sure you’re almost out of those suppressants your school wants you to be on so bad, so you’ll heat will be coming soon.”

Shit. Eric had forgotten about that.

 

Bitty had taken the last of of suppressants on a Tuesday morning and made the decision. He had a few days before the suppressants completely were out of his system, the perfect time to make a snap decision.

“Mama, I’m going out!” Bitty called out as he put his shoes on.

“See ya later, Dicky!” Her voice sounded out from the living room.

The Heat Clinic was in Athens, which was about a thirty minute drive up 441. Plenty of time to talk himself into it before he got there, but also plenty of time to talk himself out of it.

He ran his hand across the hood of his truck. Him and his parents had gone half on the truck, it was a smaller truck than Coach’s, but it was a nice dark blue color. Part of Bitty wished he could talk her up with him to Samwell, but he knew the other guys would just use it as another way to make fun of him for being southern. They meant it all in fun, but it got a little annoying after a while. Suddenly, Bitty understand why Ransom got so heated about the milk bag jokes.

The ride to Athens consisted of Bitty weighing the pros and cons back and forth, and ultimately the pros for using the Heat Clinic were more hefty than the cons.

The Heat Clinic looked nice enough. It was a bit of a shock that the lobby wasn’t cold and sterile feeling like most waiting rooms, but it was warm and cozy. With big arm chairs and coffee tables. The nurse behind the counter was a soft looking Beta woman.

“Um, hi. I would like to sign up for a heat partner?”

“What’s your name, honey?” The woman asked, typing on her computer.

“Eric R. Bittle. That’s spelled B i t t l e,” He answered back.

“Okay, sweetheart, go ahead and fill out this paperwork, and then we’ll set everything up.”

Bitty took the forms from her and headed towards one of the comfiest looking armchairs. The majority of the forms were easy to fill out, medical information, emergency contact, the usual stuff. Eric’s breath hitched when he reached the section that actually pertained to his heats, most of them were fairly easy to answer.

The hardest one though was the reason he had decided to come alone.

_Preferred sex of Heat Partner (please circle)_

_Male_ _Female_

His hand only shook lightly as he circled the four letter word. It was done in ink. There was no turning back.

His steps didn’t falter on the walk back up to the counter.

“Thank you sweetheart, I’ll call you back up when I’m done putting this all in the system.”

Bitty headed back over to the arm chair, he took out his phone to waste some time. The clicking of a keyboard wafted through the air.

“Eric?”

Bitty looked up at the sound of the nurse calling his name. He headed quickly over to the counter.

“Okay, we have everything in the system. Do you know when your heat should be starting?” She asked sweetly, the soft edges of her scent surrounding him.

“Within the week. Maybe in three or four days?”

“Okay, you’re all set. Here is an appointment card, when your pre-heat starts, give us a call and we’ll tell you when to come in. Have a nice day, honey.”

“Thank you.”

The drive home from Athens went quicker than the drive there. But that’s how these times of things usually went. Going somewhere felt so much longer because you didn’t know what the destination was going to be, but the way back was quicker. The sights familiar, even if they were in a different direction.

Bitty pulled up outside of his house, Coach wasn’t home yet. It was still mid-day, so he had a few more hours of alone time with Suzanne.

“Hi, Dicky,” Suzanne said, appearing in the front hallway. “You were gone an awful long while, where did you go?”

“Um,” Bitty said, taking his shoes off. “I went up to Athens. I set up an appointment at the Heat Clinic.”

“Oh!”

“I wanted to go by myself, because it felt like it was something I had to do.” Bitty wrung his hands together.

“I’m glad you came to a decision, baby.” Suzanne smiled sweetly at him, her eyes crinkling around the corners.

 

Friday morning, Bitty woke up with a migraine burning its way from the back his head to the front, his mouth so dry he didn’t think a dozen bottles of water could rehydrate it, and the sheets around him were soaked in sweat. It took a moment for his brain to catch up.

His pre-heat had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you remember (or not, if this your first read through of the fic) last semester was a total bitch for me. I struggled with classes, my grandma died, and I had bunch of other mental health problems. I had started working on this chapter in early December, but my harddrive crashed and I lost all my files, including what I had so far of the new chapter. So I ragequit for a while, and then the Beyonce pregnancy announcement lit a fire under my butt!  
> Come scream at me over on my tumblr [Thelittlestcaptainamerica](http://thelittlestcaptainamerica.tumblr.com)


	10. Don't Take Your Eyes Off It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, good readers. I am back from the purragatory that is writer's block. I have spent almost an entire year to write this chapter that is pretty lackluster. I have more notes at the end talking about stuff. Have fun!

Eric had sat many times in the back seat of Coach’s pickup. Usually his mama would be chattering away and Coach would interject quietly every now and again. But this drive was not like that.

Even with his pre-heat addled brain, Bitty could sense how tense it was in the cab of the truck. He could almost hear the leather on the steering wheel creak from how tightly Coach was gripping it. Suzanne was silent; her only sounds were breathing and her nervous shifting.

Bitty didn't understand why they were so nervous. _He_ was the one about to lose his virginity and spend his heat with an Alpha. _They_ weren't doing that. _He_ was.

He also didn't understand why Coach had insisted on not going into work that day and drive him to Athens. Bitty had anticipated either making the trek himself, or the very least with Suzanne. He never thought his father would join them, though in retrospect it did make sense. The Alpha part of him wouldn't easily let his Omega child go off with a stranger to spend a heat with, even if all parties involved had agreed to it before the heat even started. Especially since this was Coach and Suzanne’s idea in the first place.

Time tended to work differently when his preheat started, and he tended to lose all sense of time when his actual heat came on to him. Time seemed to stretch out, the drive taking forever, but they were pulling into the parking lot of the Heat Clinic in what seemed like seconds. This was one of the main things Eric hated about his heat, he never felt like he had a full grip on anything, not even himself.

The backseat door opened, Bitty hadn’t even noticed his parents had gotten out of the cab. Coach’s face was stern, his mustache didn’t even quiver with the nerves that Bitty could smell pouring off of him.

“Junior, if anything goes wrong, you don’t like, have them call us immediately.”

“Daddy,” Eric started, his mouth as dry and made talking slightly harder, “I put you and mama as my emergency contacts so they will call you.”

Coach wrinkled his nose, “If you say so.”

It was strange walking between his parents into the clinic, like they were protecting him from anything and everything. But in a way they were—he hadn’t been this exposed to the world since he had his first heat, and here he was, out in the open, walking into a Heat Clinic.

His parents quickly checked him in, or at least it felt quick, it could have taken thirty seconds or thirty minutes and Bitty wouldn’t have known, his hold on time was truly slipping.

“Dicky?”

Suzanne’s voice snapped Eric back to attention.

“They’re going to take you back now.” She was crouched in front of where he was seated. “Are you extra sure you want to do this?”

Bitty could feel the pull of the heat and didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded.

Suzanne closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then nodded to herself before motioning to the nurse.

The nurse guided him through the double doors on the lobby, he barely noticed the other nurse holding the door open to them. The smell of the Heat Clinic was less affrontive than being around his parents, their Omega and Alpha smells were almost overwhelming, but the soft barely there scent of the Beta staff was soothing.

“Eric? We’re going to take you in the examination room first, we’ll do a brief exam, and then we’ll start the matching process.”

“Okay,” Bitty fumbled a little with the simple words. He hated this part. He hated all of the parts. He hated it.

The nurse handed him a hospital gown. “I’ll be just outside the door while you change.”

Bitty nodded. The air of the room felt cool against his overheated skin; he was expecting the gown to have to be same overwashed material that all hospital gowns were, but this one was a soft jersey material that felt good against him. Eric carefully sat down on the examination chair, it wasn’t like the scary one that his OGYN* had, with its cold stirrups and crunchy paper. This one was covered in a comfortable looking sheet.

“Eric?” The nurse asked, poking her head in, “Are you ready?”

“Uh, yeah.” Bitty nodded, he decided it was better to stick to single syllable words.

The nurse fully entered the room. “I’m just going to listen to your lungs, take your heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, and a brief exam to make sure everything downstairs is working properly.” She approached him slowly, making sure to not make sudden movements. Bitty braced for cold of the stethoscope, but it didn’t come, it as warm, like they had heated it up beforehand so it wouldn’t shock him, the same with the other instruments that she used. He did jump slightly at the start of the second half of the exam, despite vaguely knowing it was coming, the slight intrusion of the intrusion was a tiny shock. Bitty muscled through it.

“Okay, Eric, everything seems to be in accordance to what the Omega body goes through when starting pre-heat. In just a moment I’m going to lead you into the next room, which is where we will start the matching process. It’s really simple, we’re going to give you a book and each page has a different Alpha on staff’s scent on it, and you’ll pick out the one that is the most appealing to you. Does that make sense?”

Bitty nodded.

She pointed towards a cupboard, “In there are some clothes for you to change into so you’re a little more covered than just this gown, you’ll get your street clothes back when you check out. We have sweatpants, sweatshirts, shorts, tshirts, slippers. Dress however comfortable you are. Okay?”

Bitty nodded again, his throat was pinched a little with the dryness coursing through him. It felt like the heat was soaking up all of the moisture in his body, only to start directing it elsewhere.

The nurse stepped out in the hall again, telling him that she would be back in just after a moment.

Eric pushed off of the chair, taking a few unsteady steps before getting his footing. The cupboard had everything the nurse said, it was all in a soft heather grey color. He still felt hot, so he pulled out a tshirt and shorts, it would keep him cool as the fever really started to race through his body. Bitty settled back on the exam chair.

He could feel the slick slowly leaking out of him, it wasn’t perfuming the air as heavily as it would soon be, making every breath unbearably thick with the scent of Omega in heat. Bitty supposed it could be worse, though, he was safely in a Heat Clinic, he parents probably on standby, and the only encounter with an Alpha would be a heavily monitored one. Even though he trusted his boys, Eric couldn’t imagine going into heat in the Haus. It was going to be hard enough sharing a home with three Alphas, but going into heat while he was there? Completely out of the question.

The nurse poked her head back in. “Ready?”

Bitty tried to smile while he nodded, but he didn’t think the edges of his mouth curled up just right.

She lead him out of the exam room, down the hallway, his slipper clad feet muffling the sound of his steps on the carpet. She opened a door a little ways down, and ushered him. It was painted in the soft muted white and beige colors the rest of the clinic was bathed in, there was a small loveseat sat in front a coffee table that had a binder placed on top of it.

“Okay, Eric. When you were scheduling your appointment you indicated that you wanted a heat partner, is that still true?”

“Yes,” Bitty rasped out, trying to swallow around how parched he felt.

The nurse raised her eyebrow, “Would you like some water before we start the matching process?”

Bitty nodded.

She opened the door, spoke some words, and then came back to the loveseat with a bottle of water. Bitty took a long drag off of it, happy to get some liquids into his system.

“You also indicated that you would prefer a male Alpha partner, is that still true?”

Bitty finished swallowing. His head felt a little clearer from the water. “Yes, that’s still true.”

The nurse smiled softly at him. “Here is a binder of our male Alphas on staff. I want you to look through this and pick one out. It’s based on scent, so which ever one smells the best to you, will be the one you’re paired with. Okay?”

Eric answered with his affirmation.

“Now, this is where I leave you. When you pick someone out, just hit the call button, and the matching specialist will come in and go over everything again with you before you meet your selected Alpha.” She smiled again at him before getting up and leaving the room.

It was easier to pick out an Alpha without her there watching him, but it put him on edge on having to meet another person before being matched.

The binder had laminated pages with flaps that he could flip up to smell each Alpha’s scent. There was probably about a dozen in the binder. Bitty sighed before he started smelling. The first Alpha’s scent was so potent and disgusting that it had Bitty coughing, it smelled like bad BO mixed with vinegar—a definite _no_. It was followed by burning tires mixed with freshly cut grass—pass; fresh fruit and soft linen—a contender; sickly sweet lemons and medicine—pass; the leftover scent of when the the river in Samwell was low—hard pass; the way the gym smelled after PE—pass.

And then, finally. It was like the soft pages of his grandmother’s cookbook mixed with the scent of raising pastry dough, and maybe a twinge of peppermint. It was intoxicating. The fruit and linen scent had been nice and comforting, not harsh against his heat sensitive nose, but this one smelled so much better. It definitely wasn’t the best Alpha scent that Eric had ever experienced, but it was damn close.

Bitty pressed the call button on the table, it didn’t make any sound, but after a few moments there was a knock on the door before it opened and another orderly entered. The matching specialist.

She was a beta like the nurse, and looked just as kind and soft.

“Eric, right? You’ve picked out a scent?” She waited a beat for Bitty’s confirmation before continuing. “Okay, so let’s go over everything before we send you on into the heat room. Your heat partner is going to be an Alpha who has had extensive control training. He, like every Alpha on our staff, has been trained to not go into heat induced rut. It says on your chart that you’re on birth control, is that still true?”

“Yes, I have to be for hockey.”

“Well, that’s good at least. As a backup, your heat partner will be using condoms. He won’t be on rut suppressants, though, because that would stop a knot from forming during intercourse, which would not be beneficial for the services we provide. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, so I won’t get…be in _that way_.”

“Oh, honey, no,” She smiled softly, “We take every precaution so that pregnancy won’t result from spending your heat here. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It hadn’t really been one of Bitty’s fears, but knowing that it wasn’t likely that he would end up pregnant was relief, because it meant he wouldn’t have to make any tough decisions.

“The heat room you’ll go to will be outfitted like a normal bedroom, we’ll deliver regular meals, as well as protein based snacks. Your heat partner is trained in this aspect as well, and will monitor your vitals to make sure everything is going physiologically correctly with you. There will also be a wellness check each day you’re here, as well being monitored through heat sensors in the room. Everything make sense?”

Bitty nodded, he already knew all of this from the forms he had filled out earlier in the week, but it was nice to hear it all again.

“Okay, let me page your heat partner, and then I’ll take you to the heat room.” She left the room, presumably to do what she had just said.

Bitty felt like his head was spinning. It was actually happening. He had just picked out a heat partner. He was going to spend his heat with someone. He wasn’t going to be a virgin anymore. He felt like he should be more scared, but his body was teeming with anticipation. His partner had smelled _that good_ in just a concentrated form, Bitty couldn’t imagine what he smelled like in the flesh. What he _looked_ like. Eric couldn’t help but fantasize about broad shoulders that his hands could cling onto.

Bitty could fully feel the effects of his heat pulling at his edges, soon he would tip over.

The specialist came back into the room. “Alrighty, Eric, we’re going to head to your heat room now. Ready?”

Eric nodded, pushing off of the couch; his head spun a little, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the headrush of vertigo or the heat.

A door that Bitty hadn’t noticed when he entered the room opened. It lead down a hallway, still painted in those white and beige colors. There were doors that lead off to somewhere. The specialist stopped them in front of one of the doors. It was nondescript, no sign stating “Heat Room” or anything like that, it could lead anywhere.

“Now, Eric. I’m going to leave you here. This is your heat room, a few minutes after you enter, you’ll hear a buzzer noise, and then your partner will enter the room. Each time someone comes to you room, you’ll hear a buzzer noise. After your partner joins you, the buzzer should only sound when one of our staff is bringing food, or there is an emergency situation. But we shouldn’t have to worry about that. Can you tell me if you understand?”

Eric blinked back some of the fog. “Yes. I understand.” It came out as more of a croak than a rasp. Almost all of the moisture in his body was collecting in his lower half than where it should be. He was also so dried out during his heats, the fever sapping it all out of him.

The specialist smiled softly. “Why don’t you finish that water bottle off before your partner shows up, and I’ll make sure to have him monitor your liquid intake. Alrighty?”

Bitty just nodded.

She swiped a card through the reader on the wall just next to the door, a little light lit up and the door slid open revealing a little room with another door.

He looked to the specialist. She nodded and smiled.

Eric took the step into the small in between room, and the door slid shut silently. He could feel the air in the room changing, pressurizing almost. And then, the other door opened. He took a tentative step forward.

The heat room was very different than what he thought it would be. Bitty hadn’t quite imagined it would be a hospital bed, but it was comforting to see the large king sized bed sitting against the wall of the room. He shuffled further into the room. There was a couch sitting along another wall, a small refrigerator next to it. There were two other doors in the room, one that looked like the one he just came out of, and one that was propped open slightly. Bitty assumed that the propped open one lead to the bathroom. It looked more like a nice little hotel room than a room in a clinic, Eric wouldn’t be lying if he said that he had been expecting something slightly more reminiscent of the exam room from earlier.

Bitty avoided the bed and headed towards the couch, the cushions were soft and felt nice against his feverish skin. In fact the air in the room felt better than the hallway, probably with the AC cranked up higher. Remembering the specialist’s words, he took quick sips of his water, not wanting to chug it all in one go. He hoped that the mini fridge next to him was stocked with a lot of Gatorade, otherwise he would have to have his partner ask for some.

The thought of his partner sent a wave of anxiety through him, no matter how ready Bitty was sure he was, it was still slightly nerve wracking. No one had ever seen him in that way, at least in a sexual sense. Bitty had been sharing locker rooms with Alphas for a good while, but no one on his team looked at him that way. He had dealt with some Alphas feeling entitled, but certain well timed ego-destroying comments usually deterred them. It also helped in high school that Coach was…well the coach of the football team.

The door on the other side of the room made a faint buzzing noise, knocking Bitty out of his thoughts. He didn’t know how much time had passed, his bottle was empty and he had started to pick and pull at the label. Eric could feel the way his shorts were sticking to his thighs and ass, no doubt transferring to the cushion fabric.

The Alpha stepped cautiously into the room, eyes roving before landing on Bitty where he was perched on the couch. The Alpha smiled softly and stepped slightly farther into the room, the door sliding shut behind, and he still kept his distance.

The Alpha was tall, not shockingly tall like Holster, maybe not even as tall as Ransom. Probably somewhere between Shitty’s 5’11” and Jack’s 6 foot even. He was wearing a tshirt and sweats that were made of the same soft heather grey material as Bitty’s.

“Eric?” He asked softly, his voice a soothing rumble.

Bitty swallowed. “Yes.” He licked his lips, feeling parched. “My friends call me Bitty, though.”

The Alpha smiled, still on the other side of the room. So far away. “Bitty?”

Eric laughed quietly, looking at the water bottle in his hand that was only half empty, feeling his face heat from embarrassment. “Yeah, partly because of my last name and partly because of my size.”

The Alpha chuckled. “Well, my name is Noah. And I’ll be your Heat partner to help you ride this out. Can I sit next to you?”

“Yes!” Bitty replied immediately, scooting on the couch.

Noah slowly walked towards him, taking deliberate steps forward. With each step brought the smell of baking and peppermint closer. It was intoxicating.

He settled onto the other cushion on the couch. Eric closed his eyes, savoring the deep scent; unconsciously leaning towards Noah.

“Now, Cindy, our matching specialist, said she was worried about your fluid intake. So why don’t you finish that water, and then we’ll talk before we do anything. How does that sound?”

Bitty nodded, uncapping the bottle. It took a short amount of time to drain it all. After he did, and setting the bottle on the ground, he turned towards Noah, smiling shyly. The heat racing through him made him want to press up against Noah and demand to be taken, but the still normal part of him didn’t even know where to put his hands, let alone how to sweet talk.

But Noah seemed to have it all figured out.

“So, Eric, my job here is to make sure that you get through your heat safely and consensually. Even though you consented when you got here, it’s still very important that if we’re ever doing something that makes you feel uncomfortable or unsafe you need to tell me immediately. Okay?” Noah looked directly at Bitty, his green eyes pouring into Bitty’s brown ones.

“Okay, yeah.”

Noah smiled. “Alright, so. What exactly about my scent made you choose me?”

Eric clenched his hands before relaxing, settling a little deeper into his seat. “Uhh, maybe because you smell like pastry dough and a little like peppermint. I don’t know it just smells good.”

Noah smiled softly. “Well to me,” he took an exaggerated deep breath through his nose. “You smell sweet, like cinnamon and caramel. And maybe some spices, too? Nothing too much.”

“My daddy used to say I smelled like peaches.”

Noah laughed at that, loosely with his head back. “Yeah, I guess you do smell like a Georgia peach.”

Bitty giggled at that, his head still felt like it was swimming but the more he breathed in Noah’s Alpha scent the more it seemed to calm him. He had heard about Alpha’s scents possibly making heats more intense and out of control. But there was nothing there, it felt like a lifeline not a catalyst.

A thought suddenly bounced into Bitty’s mind.

“Noah,” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, Bitty.” His mouth smiled around the word, such a silly nickname. Bitty had to break his eyes away from Noah’s mouth.

“I feel really calm. Like more calm than I do during heat. Are—are you doing that?”

Noah kept smiling, a little bashful now. “Yeah, that’s part of our training here. If we can keep calm, make sure our scent is calm, it’s shown to better help Omegas through their heat. Is that okay with you? I should have told you before I started doing it, but I don’t want make this more intense than your body already naturally wants to.”

Bitty nodded slightly. Noah had said a lot and he hadn’t really grasped all of it, just that he had asked a question. He just smelt _so_ good. Bitty leaned in closer to Noah, trying to get some of that dough scent in his brain.

A hand touch his face, tilting it up. Noah’s face was a lot closer than it was before. He breathed out and peppermint filled Bitty’s lungs.

“Can I kiss you?” Noah ghosted out, his thumb tracing a line on Eric’s cheek. The smell of him was even more intense, the heat points in his wrists leaking out.

Bitty nodded. He wanted nothing more than kiss him, to get that comforting icy scent deeper in him. It was so refreshing but somehow familiar. Bitty couldn’t place, but god did he want it.

Their lips met, moving against each other before parting slightly. Noah’s tongue traced along his bottom lip, and Bitty let a high pitched sigh before opening his mouth more. Letting Noah’s tongue sweep in. He didn’t try to fight it, it was so much better than any other kiss he had had.

Better than that Alpha he had gone to Winter Screw—who didn’t even score him, he thought vindictively.

He slid his hands into Noah’s hair, desperately trying to bringing his mouth in closer. If Bitty’s body had been hot before, it was like he was on fire now. Had been struck with lightning, and was going to be burnt to the bone. And Noah was the only thing keeping it at bay.

Eric knew if he opened his eyes his vision would be red. He let out a high keen, he needed _more._

He turned further into Noah and slipped one leg over Noah’s lap, pulling a groan from the Alpha.

Better. Much better.

Noah’s hands moved from his face to wrap around Bitty’s body, pulling their chests flush against one another.

Bitty closed his eyes and let himself lose it to his heat.

 

The next few days were hazy, hot, sweaty, and orgasmic. Eric never really remembered his heats, but he did think that he would remember forever the very first time he shared his heat with an Alpha.

And just _how_ different an Alpha’s knot was from the plastic ones he had been using until then. Bitty didn’t think he could spend his heat next summer by himself after this.

The checkout process was similar to the check in. He had the option to either change back into his clothes he came in, or be discharged in a set of sweats they had on hand. Bitty hadn’t spent much time in them after that first day.

There was a long and hot shower with plenty of scent erasing soaps. Eric lathered his hair and body to remove as much of the last few days from his skin. His parents knew what he had been up to, but there was a difference in knowing and and smelling.

The walk out of the back rooms of the clinic into the lobby was much shorter than he remembered.

Walking into the lobby was bit of a shock. It was different from the scent erased atmosphere from the rest of the clinic. Bitty’s senses were still on edge, hyperaware. His nose alerted him to his mother’s presence before his eyes or ears.

She was perched on the edge of one of the seats, she looked tired, more tired than she had seen before.

“Hi, mom,” Eric said softly, his voice hoarse still.

“Oh, Dicky!” She didn’t exactly spring out of her seat, but it wasn’t a slow rise either.

After days of free and open bliss, it was going to be rough going back into the closet. Going back to his parents. Not talking about being an Omega, not talking about being gay.

Bitty had to fight against the urge to turn around and run back into the clinic.

But, he took in a deep breath, and let himself be wrapped in his mother’s arms and walked out of the building.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you'll have noticed that this fic is now complete and has changed tags. I'm not happy with a lot of stuff I wrote early on in the fic, and I take issue with that. I'm still interested in this universe I created, but I think this chapter of Bitty's life is closed. I might drop more into the series as a whole later. But if you're still a fan of this fic, then you'll know that those can be far and in between. But I definitely don't want to completely abandon it. I think I was too ambitious and bit off way more than I could chew with doing a complete rewrite.
> 
> Sub the series to see what comes next in this universe :)


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